


Return of the Prince

by Umeko



Series: Daughter of Fire [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family Drama, Guilt, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 18:46:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 43,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4111225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umeko/pseuds/Umeko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finrod returns to life in the Gardens of Lorien but he is no longer the same prince who had left Valinor. Amarie and his family have to deal with helping him adapt to his new life in Valinor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eru's Will

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer- the canonic characters are the creation of Tolkien. I just borrow them. 
> 
> Also posted on fanfiction.net.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The eldest son of Arafinwe is to be reborn into Aman but not all will be smooth sailing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is set in the Mornel-AU in the First Age, when Findarato returns from Mandos. Of course, Mornel is no longer an elfling by this time. 
> 
> I timed it after the fall of all the elven realms except for the Havens of Sirion and before Earendil’s sailing to Valinor.

_Mandos_

All was well, as well as Lord Namo could ask for given the circumstances. The fear kept up an endless chorus of wailing, weeping, and moaning as they drifted about his halls. Many of them did not die easily and would be lingering for a while. There were occasional quarrels which needed to be mediated. The battle-fury of some did not abate so readily even in death. His grey-hooded sister Nienna slipped in often to administer to those most in need of her healing. Lady Vaire was kept busy, as were all her maidens, recording the deeds of Arda. Who had expected how much the Noldor could achieve when they entered Beleriand? Namo hid a smile. The Finwion fire burned fiercely in Finwe's grandchildren, even those by his Vanyarin spouse. Yet all the grand cities and hidden realms had fallen in their turn to Morgoth.

Suddenly, the Doomsman looked up from his musing.

 _Father? He is not quite ready…_ He paused for a heartbeat, before slowly nodding.  _Thy will be done._

In a sweep of his black robes, he rose from his throne. He passed the hall where Finwe kept up a mostly one-sided conversation with Feanaro, who was still a pillar of flame. At least the fire was not as wild as it once was. He passed the hall where Nolofinwe held his court of shades. Finally he paused at a small chamber where three fear of Arafinwe's line lingered.

Aikanaro had refused to allow his grief over his mortal love be healed despite the urgings of his elder brother. He would stare endlessly at the tapestry depicting their first meeting. These two brothers the Vala ignored. The one he sought lay abed, still troubled, still healing. It has been scarcely fifty cycles of the sun since he entered his care. Most elves need a yeni or more to heal fully.

"Come, Findarato," he commanded. The pale form on the bed shimmered as if in protest before gathering up into a single ball of light – the very essence of an Elven fea. The Vala scooped the fea and cradling it tenderly in his hand, strode off to his brother's gardens.

 _No, not without…_ The fea nudged against his fingers, trying to flee back to his kin and the Halls of Waiting.

"Enough, now, Ingoldo. You will be reborn into Aman," Lord Namo admonished. "Thus Eru Iluvatar's will be done."

* * *

_Formenos_

"And I said to him, perhaps it is time for me to service your tool!" Tatie delivered her punchline and the young elves around the bonfire broke into titters. Mornel, Lady of Formenos, took a swallow of her spiced wine and smiled. It had been a few yeni since Formenos was resettled.

Tatie was Chieftainess of a band of Silvan and Avarin elves who had been reborn into the Undying Lands, and one of the first non-Noldor to arrive in Formenos. Most of the Noldor would have thought her wild. She bore the same tattoos she had borne in her first life. Swirling vines climbed along her cheek and down her back and arms. Her customary garb was little more than a short kilt and leather vest, though she could be persuaded to don boots and a deer-hide cloak if the weather was cold enough.

Mornel valued Tatie's common sense and unwavering support in Formenos. The Midsummer Festival they now celebrated was suggested by Tatie. In the Hither Lands, it had been a Silvan celebration honouring the Lord of the Hunt and Nature. It was also an excuse for younger elves of Formenos to get to know each other better in a night of song, dance, and merrymaking by the lake, free from the strict social mores which governed much of Noldor life. Some of the more prudish elves in her family would consider the festivities debauched, but there were certain rules to observe. Older elves like Tatie also acted as wardens and rowdy youngsters often found themselves bobbing in the lake.

As Tatie explained, they did not begrudge anyone enjoying themselves with wine and dance, so long as they did not make a pest of themselves. The wine for the festival was fermented from wild berries gathered over the previous year and notoriously strong. Two skins were more than enough to render one unconscious. Most elves would water theirs down with spring water.

Many an elf found his or her One during the festival. It was at one such festival that her good friend Surihin met his soul-mate, a dark-eyed nis of Avarin descent. The Lindar had similar Bonfire Festivals and the brothers were not shy about joining the festivities when they happened during their visit to Formenos. The happy couple now dwelt in a cottage by the lake and Surihin provided the locals with fishing nets and canoes. His brother Surialdo favoured the open water and sea breeze. He now sailed between Alqualonde and Tol Eressea, captain of his own ship.

Tatie was like a mother to Mornel in her amil's absence. Nerdanel tried, but she never really liked Formenos.  _Too many memories,_ she smiled wryly. She left Tirion for Alqualonde eventually, to better cater to the growing art market there in statues. Uncle Arafinwe still ruled in Tirion. Due to politics, he and Earwen had not yet visited Formenos. Grandfather Mahtan had since returned to his own humble forge after ensuring his granddaughter's settlement was self-sufficient in terms of skilled artisans. Helwien and Amarie stayed for a year or so and had returned to Tirion. Amarie never quite took to the climate and Helwien's dyehouse in Tirion needed her.

The craftsmen and smiths who settled Formenos under Mahtan's guidance were no farmers. It was only by Yavanna's good grace the first harvests did not fail. Lady Eldalote was assigned to Formenos by Arafinwe to help manage the agricultural side of things. Eldalote never joined the Midsummer Festival although she would participate in the Harvest Fest and the Festival of Flowers.  _My prudish Noldorin nature_ , she would explain to Tatie. Moreover, despite the allowances offered by the Valar for spouses in her situation, Eldalote was adamant she would never consider another husband.

It had not been an easy road. There were still voices of dissent from Ingwe's court and Tirion about Mornel's leading Formenos. It was not proper, they would say, for a nis to lead. Tatie had taught Mornel to ignore such talk. Mornel had her supporters, among them her uncle Ara. Lord Orome took a grudging interest in Formenos after the Nandor started settling there. Sometimes, his hunts would pass near the sprawling settlement.

 _Life continues_ , Mornel mused. She never found the urge to settle down with anyone. There were a few neri she had fancied herself in love with at some point over the years, including Surialdo. However, it never worked out.  _How does one know the One?_  She had asked the older nissi she was close to.

Tatie shrugged and said she woke up next to her One, but he has been tarrying way too long in the Hither Lands or Mandos and she might consider taking another, Valar laws or not. Nerdenal had described it as being knocked off her feet when young Feanaro smiled at her in her father's house. Amarie first met Findarato in the Tirion library and something just fitted. Helwien fought with Carnistir at their first meeting over the last skein of Taniquetil wool at a market stall. It took a while to grow from grudging rivals to friends and then lovers. Eldalote confessed that her match with Angarato was likely carefully engineered by her parents from the start at her coming-of-age dance.

 _Eternity can be lonely without a One and children,_ Indis had warned Mornel when she started shunning the balls and dances in Tirion in favour of working on Formenos.  _That is the Vanyarin ideal – marriage, children and singing praises of the Valar, until their ears fall off,_  Helwien had added mischievously behind Indis' back. No doubt Amarie entertained similar thoughts involving her betrothed.

"Eldalote?" Mornel looked up as her friend patted her on the shoulder. She would expect Eldalote to be in her chamber working on her embroidery or balancing the household accounts on such nights. Eldalote's face was grim.

"Mornel, your Aunt Findis sent word from Lorien."

"I-is it Un- His Majesty Arafinwe?"

Her uncle's health had always been a concern for Mornel. Arafinwe was never trained to deal with all the politicking in Tirion unlike his elder brother. He was prone to being overwhelmed by it, though with his queen's aid…

Eldalote shook her head. With a shout, Tatie led the rest of the celebrants off in a wild whirling dance around the lake to allow her lady some privacy.

"No, but he will need us. Amarie, too. It's Prince Findarato. He has returned."

"That's great news, right? The Valar are lifting the Ban…" Mornel leapt to her feet, smiling broadly. The heady Avarin wine sang in her veins and she staggered slightly, causing Eldalote to catch her.

"Oh, Mornel, if only it were thus."

"I must call for the council at dawn, as many of them as can be roused after tonight's merrymaking," Mornel decided. As much she wanted to saddle Fearocco and ride off, she had a responsibility to her people. She could not just ride off without a word. Instructions must be left, arrangements made to ensure the settlement continued functioning without a hitch.

"Please prepare me some hangover tea. I believe I will need it," Mornel added as an afterthought. If she was going to hold council at dawn before riding non-stop off to Lorien, she did not need to feel a herd of bison stampeding through her skull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finrod will definitely have problems adapting to his second life in Aman after all he has been through. 
> 
> Yes, Tatie is the same elf-mother Tatie of the Noldor. So in a way, if Finwe is her son, she would be related to Mornel. In my fic, she dies in Middle Earth before the Great Journey, winds up in Mandos for a long while before being re-embodied. Finrod is probably to date the elf who spent the shortest time in Mandos (barring Luthien) before returning to life.


	2. Recalled to Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up in Lorien, Finrod finds it difficult to deal with his guilt issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finrod is definitely going to have some issues with his re-embodiment in Lorien.

The attendant Maiar of Lorien waited unseen with their lord and lady. The initial days after re-embodiment could be disconcerting for any elf. Many had to re-learn how to move their limbs to walk, eat, and speak. The hroa prepared for Arafinwe’s eldest was identical to the one in which he had left behind in Beleriand, barring the scars he had collected in his life. The soles and palms were as smooth as a baby’s. Unused, unmarred. 

The prince lay alone on a stone platform, clad in a simple smock of shining white. With practiced ease, Lord Namo forced the fea into its waiting hroa. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the slightest twitch of his eyelashes. A faint colour rose in his cheeks as the heart started pumping. 

 _Too bright._ He scrunched his eyes shut and gasped. Air filled his new lungs - pure and untainted air, the likes of which could only exist in Valinor. _This was it, his rebirth into Valinor._ The elf’s fea struggled, trying to adapt to his new body. 

 _I don’t deserve this!_ The thought flashed into his mind.  _My poor brothers… Uncle Nolo… Why me alone? Why?_  

“W-Why?” Finrod whispered weakly in Sindarin as the tears welled up. “Why, Eru… I don’t deserve this…” the distraught elf struggled into a sitting position before falling over and off the raised platform into a sprawl on the soft grass below. Had he the strength, he would have run all the way back to Mandos. 

Finrod could feel each springy blade under him. Irmo had prepared the glade for rebirth in a quiet corner of his garden, with shade trees, lightly-fragrant blossoms, and soft birdsong to ease the transition for Finrod. Most of the newly reborn would spend their first hours in silent awe, re-acquainting their fea and hroa to the various sensations. 

 _I failed them. I do not deserve this…_ Finrod did none of that but beat his fists into the grass and wept in despair. 

The Maiar started. A pair took on physical form to aid the shaky prince to his feet. Lord Irmo shook his head as he gave instructions to have the prince taken to one of the healing rooms where his lady might attend to him. 

 _He is not ready,_ Irmo chided his brother.   

 _It is Eru Iluvatar’s will,_ the Doomsman replied. 

 _I will send word to his family,_ Irmo frowned.  _His grief is heavy on him. Mayhaps they can be of some comfort, Eru willing._  After he had lost Miriel to Mandos, he did not wish to lose another of the Eldar entrusted into his care. Moreover one newly re-embodied.

* * *

 

Fearocco was the swiftest of steeds but Mornel was mindful she had to wait for Eldalote’s much slower mare. Fearocco nickered to urge the mare on. Vanyatari was not a young mare even with her elf-horse blood. Mornel noticed that her steed, being a son of Nahar, had outlived all other elf-horses and was still as vigorous as a young stallion. On his back, Mornel had travelled far and wide through the wilds of Aman. Sometimes Helwien or Tatie would go with her. 

 _How’s your head, princess?_ Fearocco asked with a flick of his tail. 

 _Throbbing like a hornet’s nest._  The tea had worked a little but she had risen much too early after the late night and calling council always brought on its own headaches. 

 _The Council again? Never fret that old nis knows how to deal with them,_ Fearocco tossed his head. 

Tatie had been left in charge, along with a Noldorin blacksmith of lowly birth but solid common sense. There had been the typical round of ruffled feathers which needed cajoling or smoothing. The last time she left Surihin in charge for a month, she was shocked to discover the orchards and fields untended on her return as everyone was by the lake on vacation. Her friend was simply too easy-going at times. They had to spend a fortnight corralling the settlement’s flocks which had all escaped into the surrounding mountains. 

“I wonder if my husband would be returning or if Prince Findarato has any news of him…” Eldalote murmured. “Our little boy would be grown-up by now…” She fidgeted with her reins. It would take at least two days of hard riding to reach Lorien. 

The letter from Findis had been terse. Findarato has returned from Mandos. His parents have been informed. However, they might not be able to make the journey, Arafinwe especially, given the Ban was not yet lifted off the rest of the Noldor. Political sensitivity – Eldalote had called it. As Arafinwe was ruling Noldoran, it was expected that Findarato travel to Tirion to swear fealty anew to his own atar as soon as he has regained his strength. 

Mornel had publicly sworn her fealty to the Noldoran many cycles of the sun ago when vicious rumours from certain factions suggested she aimed to unseat her uncle and replace the Noldorin capital with Formenos. It had been an uncomfortable experience having everyone’s eyes on her. She had felt inadequate in the gown she had brought from Formenos, which made her seem a sparrow among the peacocks of Tirion. 

The Kings of the Lindar and Vanyar required similar pledges of their nobles, especially those who led sizeable settlements away from the cities. Prince Earlindo had pledged his loyalty to his father as soon as he returned to Alqualonde. Adapting to life after being dead for almost three yeni had been difficult, even more so with the unwanted attention and unending questions from those whose kin still lingered in Mandos. From Queen Falmiril’s letters, Mornel understood that many of the Lindar still lingered in Mandos, including Lindo’s elder brothers. 

Lindo bore all this with good grace, until he decided to move to Tol Eressea with Serelinde. The pair claimed they needed a new environment to find inspiration for their music.  Nerdanel wrote of some malicious whispers about the youngest prince’s friendship with Serelinde. Lindo was a kind, gentle ner. He had treated Mornel with genuine warmth and courtesy the last time she visited King Olwe’s court. Nerdanel wrote she had no objections if her law-daughter were to indeed break with her Makalaure and wished her the best. 

It was almost nightfall on the third day of their journey when the nissi finally reached the gates of Lorien. Waiting attendants took charge of their horses and ushered them into a guesthouse where a bath had been prepared for their arrival. Their meals awaited in the dining hall. They would spend the night there before meeting the Master of Dreams and his lady in the morning. 

Findis and Amarie joined Mornel and Eldalote for the evening meal. The food was both delicious and nourishing the way only the fruits of Yavanna’s pastures could be. Crisp peaches, fluffy bread, and creamy vegetable soup. There was even succulent rabbit from Orome’s woods, diced and stewed with peas and baby carrots. Hungry from their long ride, the newcomers ate ravenously. However, Mornel noticed both Findis and Amarie did not seem to take the same enjoyment in their food. 

Amarie had ridden from her parents’ in Valmar posthaste as soon as she received Findis’ letter via falcon. Indis had declined to visit, stating she would wait for her grandson to regain his strength and meet with his parents first. Arafinwe and Earwen were overjoyed but their royal duties would keep them in Tirion for another week at least. Earwen would try to leave for Lorien quietly while Arafinwe remained behind. They did not need half of Tirion greeting Findarato on his waking. 

It was an awkward meal. Eldalote bravely tried to make conversation with Amarie and Findis to no avail. Mornel tried to engage her aunt in a discussion on Silvan herb usage but Findis was not biting. Silence soon fell over the table. 

“H-how is he?” Mornel finally broke the unbearable silence. 

“I do not understand… how he has not been healed like they say…” Amarie played with her peas listlessly. “Were the teachings wrong?” 

“He will be healed, by the Valar’s grace…” Findis admonished. She had inherited her amme’s pious streak. “Perhaps it is just the shock. It is not uncommon for the newly re-embodied…” 

“It has been a week!” Amarie snapped uncharacteristically. “He refuses to meet with us. When Lord Irmo brought us into his presence, all he does is blabber incoherently and weep until Lady Este puts him to sleep. This is not the Findarato I remember…” Tears coursed down her pale cheeks. 

“Peace, child,” Findis placed an arm over the distraught nis. “It has been a long day and you are tired.” She cast a pleading glance at her niece. Mornel understood. She murmured an excuse and took Eldalote by the elbow. Amarie needed to be alone for a while.

* * *

Lord Irmo shook his head as his Maia reported. Findarato had refused his meal again. The well-nourished body he had been re-embodied in was now painfully gaunt. Lady Este could only plunge him into one of her healing sleeps but without the necessary nourishment of the hroa… Irmo had not been idle. He had sent comforting dreams, only for the prince to deny them.

 _I do not deserve this._ It was as if Findarato were willing his fea to return to Mandos. There was a heavy darkness within which seemed to have grown more acute when exposed to the tranquil light of Valinor.  _Guilt. It was not your fault,_  Irmo wanted to cradle this Child close and banish his grief but the prince was having none of it. Tentatively, Irmo reached out to the troubled fea of the elf in the room as he slept. 

 _Naro – I should have stopped him from falling for her, or allowed him to wed… if…_  

_That is a note in the Song which has already been written and cannot be changed._

_I never should have abandoned my people… My friends, they died for my sake…_

_They all followed you willingly, Ingoldo. Don’t be a fool. Your family and beloved await._

_They died in pain! Torn apart by Sauron’s wolves… I could not protect… The screams, oh, Eru…_ Findarato thrashed wildly in his slumber.  _I failed them all…_ Irmo mentally drew back as the Maiar came running. Lady Este would have his neck for causing her patient such distress.rashed wildly in his slumber. _I failed them all…_ Irmo mentally drew back as the Maiar came running. Lady Este would have his neck for causing her patient such distress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I assume the Ban applies only to the exiled Noldor and their descendants. The Teleri and Moriquendi are free to be reborn into Aman once they are ready and wish to. Finrod inherited the same Finwean stubbornness. The Valar cannot force him to be healed or to accept their healing.


	3. First Meeting with Findarato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Findarato meets Mornel for the first time. It doesn't go well.

****Mornel scowled. Her cousin was being difficult. After breakfast, Amarie and Findis had gone to meet with Findarato. Too quickly, they returned with Amarie in tears. Aunt Findis explained that Findarato had agreed to meet with them briefly, long enough to beseech Amarie to forgive him and seek another more deserving ner.

“He claimed it would be fairer to her…” her aunt shook her head as she spoke. “Had he bound himself to another on the Hither Shores?” Findis did not believe it possible Findarato would be so easily swayed but the lands beyond the Sundering Sea were strange. _Who knew what befell him there?_

Mornel left Eldalote to comfort Amarie as she had no words of comfort to offer herself. Instead she wandered off until she reached a peaceful lake shaded by trees. Picking up a small flat pebble, she weighed it in her hand before sending it skipping across the surface of the lake.

“Don’t do that,” a familiar voice chided gently.

“Master Olorin.” Mornel turned and smiled. It had been a yeni since they last met.

Mornel had spent time hunting in Lord Orome’s Woods with Tatie’s people. She had visited Lord Aule’s Mansion to seek out skilled masters for rebuilding Formenos. She had also dabbled in glass-work but soon learnt it was not her true calling. Since her childhood sojourn in Lorien she had no reason to return until now.

“This is Lady Este’s lake, Lorelin. In the day she slumbers on her island on it,” Olorin explained but it did not stop Mornel from sending another pebble skipping over the water.

“Why is Cousin Findarato acting thus? Aren’t all fear healed in Mandos? He is hurting Amarie… What happened to him in the Hither Lands?” The words came out on a torrent of frustration.

“Perhaps you can find out,” the Maia suggested.

“The viewing is not for another fifty cycles of the Sun.” Mornel retorted. “And we know they don’t always show all the tapestries.”

Mornel had made an effort to be at every airing in hopes of locating her kin. She noticed that there were tapestries of battles fought. Yet there were many gaps in the narrative. In one tapestry, Nolofinwe challenged the Dark Lord but the outcome was unrecorded.  In another, her cousin Artanis was wedded. Her Aunt Earwen had wept then when she saw the wedding, bemoaning that she might never hold her grandchildren. She had sought out her sons but there was no sign of them in the tapestries aired that day.

“I shall meet with Cousin Findarato and try to get him to see some sense,” Mornel huffed. She had donned her riding breeches and tunic for she had intended to ride Fearocco to the Woods of Lord Orome later in the day.

“I would not advise that,” Olorin shrugged. “Then again, I might advise it.”

“Will you ever quit speaking in riddles?”

“The same deed could be both good and ill.”

 _The Maia speaks in riddles because he can’t see what lies ahead,_ Fearocco’s snide voice echoed in Mornel’s mind, eliciting a giggle from her. Her steed trotted up to her and nuzzled her. Elven foresight was never one of Mornel’s strengths. After her visions regarding rebuilding Formenos, she had yet to receive another prophetic dream.

* * *

 

“My Lord, what will become of him if he does not accept his rebirth?” Findis asked quietly. Lord Irmo had called her to meet with him to discuss her nephew’s condition. Findarato was still showing no signs of improvement.

“Healing cannot be forced upon anyone. He will be put into a deep slumber on my Lady Este’s isle until Arda breaks. My brother is not allowed to take his fea back into Mandos,” Irmo replied sadly.

“What will I tell my brother?” Ara had been so looking forward to his children’s return. F _or him to lose his eldest thus… And poor Earwen. The news would destroy them both._  

“We’re sorry,” Irmo murmured. “We will send your brother and law-sister dreams of comfort…”

* * *

 

Mornel knew she was probably breaking a dozen or more rules as she crept through the gardens. Newly re-embodied elves were terribly fragile. Such elves were kept sequestered from all other patients and allowed few visitors if any.

When Prince Lindo returned, it had taken him a month to be able to bear the close company of another elf. It was odd, but he had found his amil’s presence too bright and her voice too loud and jarring after the dim silence of the Halls of Awaiting. He had even fled from the room when she came to see him for the first time. Mornel was forced to admit that Queen Falmiril was quite a presence with her brash laughter and personality well exceeding her small stature.

Amarie had mentioned between sobs the path they had taken to the hut where her fiancé was staying. She had been so full of hope with the arch of blooming apple trees, the bright songbirds, and the pearly white gravel path – so like the streets of Alqualonde. Mornel made a few wrong turns before locating a slightly larger hut with a gate formed by two entwined apple trees and a white gravel path. She had earlier surprised a couple collecting their re-embodied son for his return to Alqualonde. She apologized profusely. Thankfully, they did not raise any commotion. _Apple blossoms, not peach…_ she reminded herself after that untoward encounter.

Fortunately, the gate was unattended. She crept into the hut and saw a fair-haired ner sleeping on the bed. She recognized him immediately from the many family portraits in the palace. Findarato fidgeted restlessly in his sleep. His eyes were closed and his brow furrowed. His too-thin limbs were sprawled in careless disarray over the sheets.

Any word of chastisement evaporated off Mornel’s tongue. She could sense the burden of grief upon this troubled elf. Findarato had kicked the blanket off him and it lay on the floor in a crumpled heap. Mornel also noted that her cousin’s robe had been rucked up indecently high about his waist, exposing... Blushing furiously at the sight, she hastily picked up the blanket and threw it over her sleeping cousin to preserve his modesty. 

The sensation of the soft fabric on his exposed skin was enough to startle Findarato awake. Looking about the dim room, he saw what he thought was a familiar figure.

“Curufin! What are you doing here?” he snarled in Sindarin. 

Before Mornel could reply, Findarato had pounced on her and knocked her onto her back.

“Treacherous snake!” Findarato tried to pin her to the ground as Mornel tried to buck him off. She came close to succeeding for Findarato was still weak. However, his rage gave him an unexpected strength.

“We should have left you outside for the orcs!”  His hands were closing in about her neck, threatening to choke her. She looked into his blue eyes and they were quite mad. She silently screamed for help and it came.

There was a loud whinny and the sound of pounding hooves. With a resounding crash, Fearocco kicked down the flimsy wicker door of the hut. Another kick sent her cousin flying off her. Mornel made use of the precious moments to scramble back to her feet. Findarato moaned from where he had fallen, his lower leg bent at an awkward angle. Fearocco’s powerful kick had done some serious damage.

The commotion drew attendant Maiar and elves from all over Lorien.

“Mornel Feanariel, what is the meaning of this?” Lord Irmo’s voice boomed as he took stock of the damage done. A pair of attendant Maiar lifted Findarato back onto his bed and started setting his fractured shin. Other Maiar kept busy mending the damage inflicted on the hut.

“A-apologies, my Lord… I only meant to visit my cousin,” Mornel croaked. Her throat still felt sore and she was probably badly bruised. She took hold of her horse’s halter and tried to calm him. Fearocco’s ears twitched warily and he pawed at the ground.

“Y-you are not Curufinwe?” Findarato gasped in oddly-accented Quenya. Perhaps he had gotten rusty in the Halls. The mad light in his eyes was gone. He looked thoroughly bewildered. 

“What are the rest of you gawking at?” Findis clucked as she shoved her way through the crowd of curious elves milling about the tiny garden around the hut.

“It’s just a family reunion, Formenos style,” she added with a grin. Taking their cue, the onlookers started dispersing. The elves of Formenos had a reputation for eccentricity and most polite elves did not wish to keep company with them.

“Well,” Findis folded her arms as the last of the gawkers left. “Some introductions are in order. Findarato Ingoldo, meet your little cousin, Mornel Feanariel. Mornel, meet Prince Findarato. Now, children, do try to get along.”

“Impossible. M-my cousins- all in Beleriand or the Halls…” Findarato murmured. He had only one girl cousin and Irisse was still in the Halls.

“Your uncle Feanaro left a parting gift with his wife. So here she is. Care to explain why you almost turned Kinslayer?”

“I- I mistook her for someone else…” Findarato looked away.

“Was it my brother? What did he do?” Mornel asked, her heart sinking. From Amarie’s descriptions, Findarato was mild-tempered and slow to anger. _If her brother could inspire him into a murderous rage…_

“I am tired. My leg hurts…” Findarato refused to discuss the matter further.

“You speak Sindarin… Some of my people at Formenos speak the tongue,” Mornel tried to draw him into conversation even as Findis took her arm and steered her towards the door. Fearocco followed her as meekly as a lamb. 

“Formenos? You have a settlement at Formenos?” Findarato continued looking at the far wall.

“Aye, there are reborn Moriquendi there… Perhaps you might want to come…” That was as far as Mornel got before the door, which the Maiar had thoughtfully repaired, shut behind her. 

“Lord Irmo, how long will it take for my leg to heal?” Findarato queried.

“It will depend on you. Now, care to start eating and taking care of your new hroa?” Lord Irmo admonished. The injured leg had been set and bound. At a snap of his fingers, an attendant came with a tray of warm gruel.

“Is she really my cousin, born after the Darkening?” His mind was still struggling to make sense of his aunt’s words.

“Yes. She is of the line of Finwe and the daughter of Feanaro and Nerdanel.”

“What kind of elf is she?” Finrod hated to admit it but his curiosity was piqued. _What kind of city could arise from the ruins of Formenos? What elf could banish the memory of Morgoth’s shadow on that piece of Aman? All who had dwelt there before the Darkening had abandoned the place and followed Uncle Feanaro over the sea. They had believed Formenos cursed and should be left to the brambles until Arda breaks._

“I think you should find that out yourself, don’t you?” Lord Irmo replied with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think some small part of noble Finrod would love to kick his cousins for their backstabbing. 
> 
> Mornel will forgive Finrod for his attack as he was not exactly in his right mind at the time. She will also not tell Amarie what she accidentally saw. Finrod is a curious elf and that curiosity about what is going on with his youngest cousin and Formenos might just be enough to spur him to start healing and leave Lorien.
> 
> To clarify - in my fic, Galadriel met Celeborn in Doriath and were married there. Celeborn is a Sindar elf and a member of Elu Thingol's court.


	4. Broken Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are being made for a wedding in Tirion even as Amarie and Finrod reconsider their betrothal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curufin gets beat up in the Halls. (Sorry, could not resist.)

_My first meeting with my cousin Findarato did not go well. He mistook me for someone else… I pray our next meeting will go better._

“H-he tried to choke you?” Amarie gasped in horror as Eldalote dabbed a soothing balm onto the ugly bruises left behind by Findarato’s fingers. Mornel nodded glumly. She had wanted to cover the marks with Eldalote’s scarf but Eldalote insisted she had the bruises treated first. That was when Amarie strolled in and saw the marks.

“Ingoldo would never…” Amarie exclaimed. Tears ran down her cheeks anew. Perhaps her beloved had been changed irreversibly by his experiences and no longer loved her.

“Now, don’t be foolish,” Eldalote chided as if reading Amarie’s thoughts. “As Lady Findis said, he is not quite settled into his new hroa yet. Perhaps in a few more days, he would have come to his senses… Watch it, horse!” Fearocco had stuck his great head through the open window and butted Eldalote.

“Sorry, Fearocco… I don’t think we can go riding today,” Mornel apologized and kissed him on the nose. Fearocco snorted and turned to leave.

“Keep away from my Tari, she’s too old to foal again,” Eldalote warned. More than half the horses at Formenos could trace their lineage to Fearocco. Leaving a mare with Fearocco was a guaranteed way to end up with a foal. It had caused some awkwardness for Mornel when Fearocco got all the mares in Formenos with foal one season, rendering them unable to work during the sowing. An irate Tatie had suggested neutering the stud and Fearocco had gone into hiding. Still, having a horse sired by a son of Nahar was a mark of prestige among the Eldar as such horses were known for their stamina, speed, and loyalty.

* * *

 

Unseen, the Maia Olorin watched the re-embodied Crown Prince of the Noldor finish his gruel. Eru Iluvatar has plans for this one, but Lord Manwe would not divulge more to his servant. Olorin wondered if Lady Vaire would mind if he nipped into her Halls for a bit. It was true not all the tapestries were displayed for the viewing of the Eldar in Aman, for many would only cause grief to the Eldar who remained behind.

Miriel Serinde would have worked on the ones recording the deeds of the descendants of Finwe. She had been busy over the past few yeni. She could barely take time out to meet her granddaughter. Miriel had not shared with Mornel the events across the sea as it had been forbidden. Instead, the pair’s conversations were about happenings in Formenos or Tirion.

Perhaps Miriel was also forbidden to discuss with Olorin what befell Findarato in his first life. Never mind, there were always the tapestries and a Maia could access the Halls of Awaiting easily enough. Olorin immediately transported himself there and found himself right in the middle of a family squabble.

“Where’s my brother?” Angarato shouted. “What have you done to Finrod?”

“We have nothing to do with this!” Curufin yelled. The hapless Feanorion was being mobbed by a crowd of very angry elves. His brothers were nowhere in sight. Perhaps they had already fled for a safer corner of the Halls.

“Sure, and Dwarves will fly…” someone sniped. Curufin was set upon and viciously pummeled.

“Cease this nonsense!” Olorin boomed. He grabbed Angarato’s arm. Lord Namo’s Maiar would come hurrying to deal with the riot. Curufin would have to fend for himself until the other Maiar came.

“Your brother has been taken by Lord Namo and is in good hands,” Olorin whispered to the prince.

“Is he healing then? Has Lady Nienna taken him into her care like she did with cousin Irisse?”

“Aye, he is healing.” _Do not tell, not yet…_ Olorin bit his tongue as Lord Namo’s voice warned in his mind. The Vala sounded mildly annoyed. All that happens within Mandos is known to Lord Namo and it was his wishful thinking he could slip in unnoticed by the Doomsman.

“What brings you here, Master Olorin?” the second prince of Arafinwe asked. He sounded calm enough now although his fists were clenched as if he wished he had punched Curufin a few more times before being pulled away.

“I wish to see the tapestries of the deeds of your brother Findarato while in Exile. It is to help in his healing.”

“Ah, they are in the second corridor on the left… Come, I will show you there…”

An hour later, Olorin returned to the Gardens of Lorien. _No wonder the sight of Mornel, so much like Curufinwe, had caused the noble Findarato to act in so uncharacteristic a manner._ The wounds on his fea are deep. _Mairon, no, he is Sauron now._ He had once been so promising among the Maiar. _A formidable foe._ Olorin shivered despite the sunshine. He guessed most of the injuries to the prince’s fea had been inflicted during the contest. _All that pain, grief, despair and guilt… Even in Mandos it would have taken an age to heal, what more when the fea is unwillingly re-embodied?_

He could not speak of the events causing Findarato’s grief, even if Lord Namo had not advised him against it. It would only cause more grief to Findarato and his loved ones.

* * *

 

“Never give up hope, Amarie. He will recover,” Findis coaxed. “His love for you…”

“His love? I have not felt his love since his return… Nay, even before that! Why did he leave Aman instead of turning back as his sire did?”

The grief and hurt at her betrothed’s rejection had melted into anger. Mornel grabbed the betrothal ring as Amarie tried to hurl it out the window. Amarie had always worn that band of silver on her finger.

“Really, you are overwrought… Come, a calming draught will put you to rights…” Aunt Findis retorted and placed her hands on her thin hips as if she were scolding a wayward elfling.

“Lote, have you felt your husband since he left?” Amarie turned to her fellow noblewoman. Sadly and slowly, Eldalote shook her head. Perhaps she also feared what she might find when it was Angarato’s turn to be re-embodied.

Mornel studied the thin band of silver. It was carved with a ring of ivy leaves. Findarato would have left his own betrothal ring behind in his grave on the Hither Shores. Already Indis was making plans for her grandson’s wedding in Tirion, so Findis said. It would be a shock for her to learn the betrothal was off.

“Amarie, if you so desire, I will return this ring to my cousin on your behalf.” If anything, it would give her a chance to speak with Findarato.

* * *

 

In distant Tirion, Arafinwe frowned. His head was throbbing after four hours of council meeting. He had scarcely retired to his private chambers for the day when Indis came in with her plans for his firstborn’s wedding. Sweet Earwen had agreed to take on the task of discussing the arrangements with Indis while he rested. The headache still did not let up. 

“Earwen, I feel ill at ease.” Arafinwe plodded over to where his wife sat by the fire working on a shirt.

“All will be well, dearest, once Ingoldo is home.” Her voice was listless. Perhaps the wedding arrangements had worn her out too.

“Nay,” Arafinwe shook his head. He bent and laid his cheek against his wife’s. He took the shirt from her hands and set it aside. “I fear that is only the beginning.”

“I understand…” Earwen reached up to stroke his cheek. “I should be able to feel the son I had borne but all I sense is silence. Perhaps he is not ready yet to meet us.” Her own family had experienced the trials of re-embodiment. Lindo had hidden from his parents for a month after his return. It was two seasons before he was at ease enough to walk with his atar on the rebuilt wharves.

 _Come with me,_ Arafinwe helped his wife to her feet. The pair headed for their bedchamber although the dinner bell had not yet rung. They still enjoyed each other’s company although they had long known there would be no more elflings after Artanis. It was necessary for them to snatch whatever small comfort they could in such uncertain times.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am playing on the osanwe aspect of an elf’s telepathic link with their beloved, spouse and family. Finrod is purposely shutting out Amarie and his parents. Mornel is sadly lacking in the osanwe part aside from her horse as she was away from her parents and siblings for much of her childhood.


	5. Ivy and Wormwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel speaks with Finrod when she returns Amarie’s ring.

The Gardens of Lorien were a restful place. Mornel found her cousin lounging on a wicker chair under the shade of the apple trees. He seemed at ease with apple blossoms caught up in his tousled hair. His injured leg was propped up on a small footstool. A canary hopped down from its branch and perched on his shoulder, singing its carefree song. His eyes were closed in the manner of many of Irmo's charges as Lady Etse's healing sleep mended their fea and hroa. He stirred as if sensing his visitor. 

Mornel gripped the ring in her fist. She wore a dress of cool green trimmed with gold embroidery. Her raven hair was tied back in a simple braid. She cut a modestly girlish figure. Findis was wary after their initial encounter almost ended in disaster. She had seen to Mornel's dressing that morning to ensure she would not trigger any violent reactions from Findarato by reminding him over much of her father or brother. From her talk, Mornel had also learned more about her cousin. He now called himself Finrod, a corruption of his fine Quenya name, their aunt sniffed. His Quenya had gone all strange in Beleriand, Findis exclaimed. Mornel recognized the Sindarin accent behind his words. 

"Curu- no, Mornel…" Finrod blinked his blue eyes and corrected himself. "Greetings and apologies, cousin…" he stumbled over his rusty Quenya. His eyes still bore the light of the Trees in them as they took in the sight of his cousin, looking away guiltily when they saw the bruises on her neck. 

" _Mae govannen_ , Cousin Finrod. No harm done to me, though I wish the same could be said of Lady Amarie," Mornel spoke in Sindarin. Finrod flinched at Amarie's name. 

"For many yeni she has waited and prayed for your return. She would have waited till Arda breaks if need be. Will you not even deign to speak with her again?" Mornel continued. 

"The one she waits for is gone. Hence I must break our troth." 

"Then let us follow the custom of our people with the return of the rings," Mornel held out Amarie's ring on the palm of her hand. "Ivy, you chose the symbol of fidelity well for Amarie has been faithful to your memory all this while. She will wait…" 

"She has wasted her time waiting for a ghost. I would that Curufin had etched wormwood onto that for I know I will cause her nothing but sorrow," Finrod retorted but made no move to take back the ring. He had sought out the best craftsmen to craft the betrothal ring, only to find most had followed his uncle into exile. It was then that he remembered Curufin's ring, forged well before the rift. 

" _It's a failure," young Curufinwe scowled at his latest handiwork and was about to toss it into the slag pile._  

" _Don't, it is beautiful," his cousin protested. Findarato had gone to the forge out of curiosity and the silver wreath of ivy forming the ring seemed the most exquisite thing he had seen._  

" _Keep it then," Curufinwe scoffed. "Maybe you might find a willing bride with it." Many saw the children of Arafinwe as provincial after their childhood in Alqualonde. Curufinwe was no exception. It would take many seasons for Findarato and his siblings to master the intricacies of Tirion court-life._  

It was still beautiful when he found it in his jewellery-case and it fitted perfectly on Amarie's finger as if it had been crafted for her. 

"Your ring from Amarie, cousin?" Mornel queried with a sly smile. Finrod scowled. It reminded him too much of Curufin. 

"You know I have it not." A visible shudder ran through his being at the memory of his death. That unadorned iron band would be lying in his grave. No fancy metalwork for the Vanyar, thank you. Strange, but he had been loath to part with it, even on the Quest. He had gladly given away his father's ring to Barahir but nothing would have parted him from Amarie's ring, save Death. 

Mornel watched his face quietly all this while. She had learned to observe and watch, both as a child and later as she sat in council in Formenos.  _Watch, listen and learn,_ Olorin had advised. Lord Morwe was loud and brash but it was his quiet brother Nurwe who could be relied upon to deliver on his promises both good and ill. With the glances the milkmaid and the tanner's son were giving each other, it was no surprise to her when they sought permission to wed. 

"You still feel for Amarie," Mornel stated matter-of-factly. 

"That is exactly why I wish to spare her. How can I let her live the rest of her eternal life bound to an ellon so marred? Things I have seen and experienced across the Sea… I was not yet healed when they freed me." Finrod clenched his fists in his lap. 

"She called you wise. Amarie is more than willing to share your burden, until you are healed. Do you think her some delicate flower, cosseted in Ingwe's palace, ready to wither with the first frost? She is far stronger than you credit her for, that I know. The deepest wound you could have inflicted is to her heart and you have done just that. Consider my words, cousin." Taking his hand in hers, Mornel closed his fingers about the ring. 

"Much has changed in Aman. Those left behind have changed too, for better or worse. Your parents and grandmother wait in Tirion. King Olwe and Queen Falmiril wait in Alqualonde. The gates of Formenos will be open to you once you leave Lorien." 

"Have they forgiven us? The Lindar… Alqualonde burned…" Finrod groaned and placed a hand over his eyes. The hand holding the ring remained clenched in his lap. 

"Your father has made reparations for the damage to the docks. The ties between Tirion and Alqualonde are healing as we speak. Your uncle Prince Earlindo has been re-embodied and now dwells on Tol Eressea. My own amil works in Alqualonde supplying statues to King Olwe's gardens and those of the nobles," Mornel explained. Ties were almost back to normal but there were still spots of unpleasantness. Some of her amme's statues for a park had been vandalized once, splattered with red paint. Perhaps they had reminded them too much of Feanaro and his sons. 

"Aunt Nerdanel's marble statues were always well-liked in Alqualonde," a weak smile came to the prince's lips. "Forgive me, cousin. I feel faint… The sun… too bright…" 

Immediately an attendant Maia appeared beside them, ready to assist Finrod indoors to rest. It was time for Mornel to go. 

"You would come by again, wouldn't you? Aunt Findis fusses too much," Finrod asked. Speaking with Mornel had been enlightening and he wanted so badly to know more about this new Aman.

"Shall I bring Eldalote, your law-sister?" Mornel asked hopefully. It was a start being invited back by her cousin. 

Finrod went pale and shook his head. "No, not yet, I am not ready to face my law-sister – or Lady Amarie." However, Mornel noted that Finrod had carefully slipped Amarie's ring into his pocket instead of casting it from him. 

* * *

 

"Has he news of Angarato and my dear Artaresto? Are they well? Are they safe? Are they alive? When will they return?" 

Mornel had barely stepped into the room when she was beset by a barrage of questions from Eldalote. 

"Steady, Lote. Let her breathe," Findis warned. 

"We did not have opportunity to speak of Beleriand or our sundered kin," Mornel replied as she washed her face and hands before grabbing two apples from Findis' basket - one for herself, the other for Fearocco. She needed to change out of her dress before she could go riding. Eldalote could not keep the disappointment off her face. 

"Have you returned him the ring then?" Amarie asked quietly from beside the window where she had been sorting herbs for Findis. 

"Aye," Mornel admitted. "But he loves you still. Isn't it strange we try to protect the ones we love yet we hurt them all the more?" 

Amarie gaped at Mornel's words.  _Dare she hope?_ Findarato was her One. She had known it since that moment when their eyes had met when they reached for the same scroll. She had often dreamed in those halcyon days of Light and bliss. They would be wed and have children. She cared not if they would live in Tirion or Alqualonde. Findarato was fond of the seaside and might want a vacation villa there. They would visit her family in Valmar frequently… All the dreams had come to nought with the Darkening. 

"Don't fret, there is still hope. Finrod needs time to come to his senses," Mornel reassured her friend. 

"Finrod?" Amarie looked puzzled. 

"I mean Findarato. Finrod is the name he goes by now." 

"It is strange on the tongue but less of a mouthful," Amarie frowned momentarily. 

"Mornel, I do hope you intend to wean him off that horrid Sindarin. It is fine for Formenos but a Crown Prince of Tirion should not be speaking that barbaric tongue," Findis clucked. Mornel only smiled. 

 _It will be slow but I have faith Cousin Finrod will see sense and marry Amarie. We just need time… Like Eldalote said, it takes many seasons to grow an apple orchard. If Finrod has the time to accept his new life and whatever happened back over the sea, he would not have anything holding him back from marrying Amarie. If only we can make Grandma Indis see that too._  

* * *

 

"What do you mean there is an invitation for the Noldorin Crown Prince's binding ceremony?" Prince Ingwion frowned at the gilt-edged invite he had just received from a messenger. His wife Elsornie shrugged. Their daughters looked over from where they were working on a tapestry under their grandmother's instruction. 

"Prince Findarato has not even returned to Tirion yet to swear his fealty although Findis has confirmed his re-embodiment in Lorien. I fear Lady Indis is overly eager. She did enjoy arranging gatherings and such…" 

"I know, she arranged our binding despite my father's misgivings. I recall the choir she had for Findarato's betrothal party. He's her favourite grandchild," Ingwion bit his lip thoughtfully. "Don't let Mother talk you into making a new gown yet, Sorna."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mae govannen (Sindarin) – Well met.  
> In the language of flowers, Ivy represents fidelity. Wormwood, bitter sorrow.  
> Finrod will need time to heal and Indis extending wedding invites will only complicate matters from Valmar to Alqualonde.


	6. Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finrod is visited by his amme and grandmother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Indis’ plans for a grand wedding for Finrod are put on hold as news of his confrontation with Mornel reaches Tirion.

“Amme, it is too soon…” Arafinwe frowned as he took in the date on the invite. He and his wife had been under the impression the wedding would be in a year’s time. Vanyarin binding ceremonies always required that much preparation with the endless rituals and ceremonies. Perhaps there was still time to inform Olwe and the other guests the wedding would not be happening just yet. Findis’ latest letter from Lorien has raised fresh concerns. He wished his sister had been more forthcoming in her letters but Findis probably did not wish to worry him. 

More worrying was a terse letter from Amarie’s parents requesting the breaking of the betrothal on the grounds his son was mentally unstable to the extent of having attacked an attendant in the Gardens.  _How could they entrust their precious daughter to such a ner?_  Findis’ letter had glossed over the attack on Mornel as an isolated case of confusion and reassured him the cousins were now forming a firm friendship. 

“They have been apart for so long…” Indis protested. “I cannot understand why her parents…” 

“Amme, should they not have the time to rekindle their love first before rushing into marriage.” Arafinwe coaxed. “My son is not well enough yet.” 

“All hurts are healed in Mandos,” Indis insisted. “Why do you doubt the Valar?” 

“I do not doubt the Valar, amme. Only that I feel Findarato needs more time to get used to being alive and back in Aman. Moreover, he has broken his leg in an accident and Lord Irmo will keep him there a while longer.” The Noldoran was definitely going to send messengers with apologies post-haste to Olwe and Ingwion. Hopefully, they had not yet prepared the wedding gifts yet.

* * *

“H-how did they find out?” Amarie gasped. Her cousin Elemmire only shrugged. He had been tasked with escorting Ingwion’s daughters to Lorien for their first lessons under Lady Este as the High King had decreed. Now he was getting a quick repast before returning to Valmar. 

“The cousin of your amil has a neighbour whose son is a disciple to Lady Este. Sorry, Amarie. It is all over Valmar by now. Your atar petitioned the High King to forbid the union. His Majesty said he would consider it, which means whenever he is not busy leading prayers to Lord Manwe. Prince Ingwion has secreted the document away before his atar could approve it. His Highness feels you should give him a chance to heal first,” Elemmire took a sip of his cordial. “You’re still sticking with him, aren’t you?” 

“I-I don’t know… He has changed so much… It’s like a new ner I have to get to know all over again,” Amarie twisted her hands in her skirt. It had been almost three weeks now but Findarato, or Finrod, was still reluctant to meet her. 

Finrod allowed his aunt to fuss over his cushions and blankets. He agreed to speak briefly with Eldalote about her husband and son. When she pressed him on the detailed circumstances of her husband’s demise, Finrod grew distraught and lapsed into Sindarin. Mornel translated that both Angarato and Aikanaro had fallen bravely in battle. Artaresto and his daughter Finduilas had fallen when the city Finrod founded fell. This much Finrod had gleaned from within the Halls. Eldalote had left Lorien soon after. Her family was not going to be released yet as the Doom still hung over them, Lord Irmo had informed her. They would receive the fullest healing they needed under his brother’s care. Mornel questioned why Finrod had not been healed and was told it was the will of Eru Iluvatar he be released now. 

It was with Mornel Finrod spent the most time talking with, Amarie thought with a twinge of envy. At least Aunt Findis was around to act as chaperone. According to Findis, Finrod was full of questions about Formenos and Mornel happy to answer his questions. Finrod was less forthcoming about answering Mornel’s queries about her brothers and Mornel did not pry. Little by little, Finrod spoke of the lands he had explored and the races he had encountered – Dwarves and Men.

* * *

Finrod was speaking of his cave-city when Master Olorin arrived one day. He was not alone. With him were two nissi who kept their hoods up until they were indoors. 

“Findarato, I bring guests from Tirion and Alqualonde.” 

“Grandmother? Amme?” Finrod gasped. He would have stood up to greet them but his leg was still healing.  

“Findarato, it is so good to see you again…” Earwen would have embraced her son if it were not for Queen Falmiril’s restraining hand. The newly re-embodied were uncomfortable with physical contact. 

“Slowly, Earwen,” the Queen of the Lindar chided. “We don’t want to frighten him, do we? Now where is Amarie?” 

“I-is it about the betrothal?” Finrod paled. His fingers twisted the leather string around his neck on which Amarie’s ring hung. He had not got the courage to return it to her yet.  _Had the news of his breaking the betrothal reached as far as Alqualonde?_  

“Lady Amarie is with the student healers now, I believe. Ingwion’s daughters are starting their lessons in Lorien and she would like to meet with them,” Findis replied. Amarie had spent a few seasons back in Valmar tutoring the twins in music before Ingwe felt her style too Noldorin for his liking. The nissi were still close and kept in touch via letters. 

“Don’t fret about the binding or the objections of Amarie’s parents,” Falmiril said. “We have spoken and Indis agrees you need to heal first and we will sort things out with Amarie’s folk. Osse’s beard,  you have not yet heard?” the Telerin queen’s hand flew up to her mouth at the surprised look on her grandson’s face. Her rosy cheeks turned even redder. 

“T-they no longer think me worthy of her?” Finrod asked in a quavering voice. 

“They think you have not healed enough and should not rush into things just yet,” Mornel corrected in a firm voice. She gave her cousin’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “The leg should mend and you will be up and about in a month, if not sooner,” Mornel promised. 

Findis went to fetch some refreshment for the visitors and returned with a tray of biscuits and lemonade. Olorin had added a few more chairs to the room so that they might all sit comfortably. How he did it was anyone’s guess. There was even a settee which was just right for both Falmiril and Mornel to sit on without having their feet dangle like some elfling’s. There was still space for the Maia to add a small table for the refreshments.  

Finrod admitted in halting Quenya that his brothers were both in Mandos, likewise his nephew and grand-niece. Earwen nodded. She had already heard the news from Eldalote. 

“What of Nerwen? What of ner she chose as her lord?” Earwen asked. “Does he treat her well?” 

“Amme, set your mind at ease. Galadriel chose him well. I granted my permission in atto’s stead for them to be wed,” Finrod chuckled. He had been scandalized as any other elf when his sister declared she would be wed to Celeborn after dancing with him at a feast in Elu Thingol’s court. The Sinda was patient enough to indulge his often wilful sister despite being a warrior in his own right. 

“Who is Galadriel?” Earwen asked. 

“Artanis, Galadriel is the epesse she took when she wed Lord Celeborn of the Sindar, Granduncle Elu Thingol’s people,” Finrod added. “We tarried with him for a time before venturing out to found our own realms. Galadriel remained in Doriath with her lord.” 

“Have they children?” Earwen asked eagerly. _If her daughter had children, would they take after Nerwen?_  

“None that I am aware of.” 

“Really,” Findis shook her head, whether in disapproval of her niece’s choice of spouse or her decision to remain with the Sindar. 

“She still lives in Beleriand,” Finrod looked away guiltily. After Elu Thingol had closed his borders to the Exiles, he had invited her to visit Nargothrond on occasion. They had been close as children but they had drifted apart over the yeni. She had warned him of opening his gates so freely to the refugees of Himlad and he had accused her of being blind to the sufferings of those outside the protection of Melian’s Girdle. Still, they had made their peace in a way, the last time she came to visit with her lord.

 _You have two vipers in your court, brother,_ she had warned him before riding off with her husband and their escort for Doriath. Curufin had accused her of meddling in the politics of the city when she recommended that Gildor, Finrod’s fosterling, remain his heir in favour of his nephew. She had warned Orodreth against trusting a son of the Edain whose line will be cursed by the Dark Lord. Galadriel had always been wary of her dealings with the Feanorions, although she did soften when faced with young Celebrimbor. The youngest of the House of Feanor was as likeable as a puppy. It was a blessing the Oath which tainted his father did not seem to touch him. If it were not for Orodreth and Gildor, Curufin might have pushed his son forward as a potential heir to Nargothrond. 

“Findarato, your grandfather and I were wondering - would you like to visit us when your leg has healed?” Falmiril extended her invitation. “You can also visit your Uncle Lindo in Avallone – it’s a newly-founded town on Tol Eressea he is living in.” 

“I would love to,” Finrod beamed. He was close to his Uncle Lindo as an elfling and spent many lazy Minglings by the sea listening to him sing.   

Olorin was pleased both queens treated Findarato gently. They had witnessed the confusion in Prince Earlindo on his return. Olorin had warned them but nothing could have prepared them for the actual meeting with Findarato. To their credit, they did not cry out at how wan he looked or how his Quenya was oddly stilted. It was only after the visit ended that Earwen allowed herself a few tears in the privacy of her room. Finrod was not at ease opening up his mind to anyone just yet, not even his amme. 

Mornel was good at calming Finrod when he got distressed, Olorin acknowledged. She made him smile with amusing anecdotes of life at Formenos. Already his dark moods were less frequent. However, Mornel was not his soulmate and unable to heal his fea completely. That was Amarie and Mornel knew it. Mornel was gently steering him back to her with each visit. It would be many weeks before Finrod could withstand the public scrutiny of Tirion and swear his fealty to his father. Arafinwe had to make do with reports from his wife and sister till then. 

* * *

 

_Now, to Formenos or Alqualonde? Both are distant but Tirion and Valmar would prove too crowded for Finrod’s liking at this point of his recovery. I can imagine all those nobles hanging about gawking at him.  The weather in Formenos is clement now but it might turn chilly soon. I do hope it is Alqualonde. It has been a while since I visited amme and Serelinde. Can I trust Tatie to oversee the apple harvest before the frost comes? Hope Lord Manwe doesn’t send a flurry of snow our way this year. We will have to leave the decision to my cousin if he is up to choosing._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the original Silm version with Gil-galad being Fingon's was a bit problematic as he was skipped over in favour of Turgon after Fingon died. Perhaps he was underage at that point. After much consideration, I have decided to go with this version too.


	7. Finrod in Formenos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finrod travels to Formenos to learn what his cousin has achieved. His decision does not go unremarked upon.

“Formenos?” the Noldoran tried to keep the disappointment from his voice but failed. He had been so looking forward to meeting his son. Earwen patted her husband’s hand. She had returned from Lorien to Tirion with her mother. Eldalote had returned to Tirion to spend a season with her parents before returning to Formenos once the weather there turned mild. 

“Yes, he is not quite ready to face the court yet. Moreover, he is eager to meet any reborn Moriquendi at Formenos.” 

“But Formenos is so far and in this coming season cold… And what of the language? I understand the Moriquendi have their own tongue.” Formenos was so very different from Tirion. Rank and family ties counted for little there. Many social conventions and norms were ignored. 

“Aye, Lord Manwe might send them snow again, but Mornel assured us they are well-prepared to deal with it. Findarato has picked up the tongue of the Moriquendi and is quite fluent in it…” Earwen reassured her husband.   

“What of Amarie? Does she go with him?” 

“She has returned to her parents in Valmar as they wished,” Earwen shrugged. She had been rooting for Amarie to disobey her parents’ summons and travel to Formenos to be with Findarato. Arafinwe rang for his chamberlain. 

“Send to Lady Anaire at the Library of Tirion. We would like any books pertaining to Sindarin and the ways of the Moriquendi.”  _If Findarato or Finrod preferred Sindarin now, why should he be forced to use a tongue he was ill at ease with?_  Arafinwe knew his son had changed due to his experiences over the sea and he was going to do the best he could to set him at ease.

* * *

Lord Manwe sent the first snap of frost as they arrived in Formenos. Wearing the crudely-trimmed hide of a bison, a grumbling Tatie greeted Mornel with a peck on the cheek at the gate. The apples had been harvested just in time. Sadly, the grapes had frozen on the vine, but no worries. Some ellon hit on the idea of making wine from the frozen grapes. It would take a few years to savour the fruits of his labour.  

“Who’s this fine ellon then?” Tatie exclaimed as Finrod removed his hood. If he was surprised by her tattoos and outlandish garb, he did not show it. 

“My cousin Finrod. He has been re-embodied recently,” Mornel replied. She was glad none of the Noldor elves originally from Tirion were about to see him. Everyone was busy saving their crops and livestock from the frost. An Avarin shepherdess herded a flock of sheep and goats through the gate on the way to their pens. She shouted at the trio to get out of their way.  

Tatie replied with a choice curse. Finrod only laughed and picked up a small goat, a late-born kid, and praised the softness of its wool. The shepherdess’ manner softened at his compliment. Mornel inquired if there has been sufficient feed for the goats in the keep. The shepherdess replied that all was in order for winter and promised a wheel of her finest goat cheese for the lady’s guest. 

At his request, Mornel showed Finrod about some of the workshops and forges, narrowly avoiding being mobbed by curious Noldor craftsmen. Finrod was friendly and chatted readily with the craftspeople. However, the effort soon proved too much for him after the rigours of their journey. Mornel helped him to his room before giving orders for a wash-tub of warm water to be sent up to him. There would be no banquet for Finrod, not yet at least. The kitchens would be busy storing the produce for the winter ahead to prepare a proper banquet for her guest, even if Finrod were up to sitting through a trying dinner with the Council.  They would celebrate the Harvest Fest once the harvest was finished with for the season. There would be a feast then.

* * *

“Mornel, are there none of the Moriquendi re-embodied who have been there when the Noldor arrived in Beleriand?” Finrod asked. He had been curious if any of the Sindar and Nandor he knew from Beleriand had been re-embodied. The cousins had met in the parlour for a private dinner after they had both washed away the grime and dust of the journey. Mornel had brushed and stabled her steed herself before washing herself with cold water in the common baths. Someone had allowed the bath furnace to go out again and the servants had just relit it. Mornel did not wish to wait for the water to warm up and be late for dinner.   

“Alas, not that I am aware of. Most of the elves of Tatie’s people were from Cuivienien and never wandered far from its shores ere they perished. Some fell behind during the Great Journey in the mighty forests of Arda. Moreover, many of the Silvans are a nomadic and secretive people and they prefer roaming the wilds or living in seclusion in the forests,” Mornel explained as she poured out some miruvor for her cousin. She was pleased to note that he had lost that gauntness and cleaned his plate.  

“I see… I was hoping some of my acquaintances who fell in Beleriand have had the blessing of walking in Aman,” Finrod replied sombrely.  

“We could send word to the Silvans through Tatie…” 

“No, leave them to their peace. They deserve it after Morgoth’s blighting of Beleriand.” 

“You speak his name freely, and with less dread than one would expect of one who has seen his power close at hand.” 

“Uncle Nolo challenged him to single combat and wounded him, although he perished in the duel. He held your brother prisoner but Maedhros did not yield to him even under torture. It is rather, his advisor Sauron we should beware…” A shadow passed over Finrod’s face.  

Mornel nodded. She had already learnt of the new Sindarin names her Exiled kin had adopted. Poor Maitimo had been scarred and came dangerously close to losing his mind completely before being rescued by Fingon at the cost of his right hand. He was still as fearsome a warrior as ever, Finrod said. Times were dark in Beleriand. The isolated Silvan hamlets were often subject to attacks by marauding orcs and other creatures of the Shadow. Even the lands held by the Noldor with their superior arms were constantly alert for attacks from Angband.

 _Perhaps it would be wise to record this for the Ages to come,_  Mornel mused. Her family had fought and created mighty realms against Morgoth. They had stood up fearlessly to him and she could not fault them for that. She would persuade Finrod to help her draw up maps and record the epic tales of Nargothrond, Mithrim, Doriath, and the myriad Elven realms. Of course, she would have to be careful not to badger him too hard or too soon or risk a relapse. Thankfully, Finrod seemed to be more than happy to share his stories with her, save for the deeds of her brothers Celegorm and Curufin, and the circumstances of his death.  

“Cousin, I could not help but notice during my walk earlier that you have shut away a large part of the keep.” 

“Those rooms belonged to my atto and brothers. I have cleared out grandfather’s rooms and forwarded his belongings here to Uncle Ara but… We have no need for the use of those rooms yet.”  

“Do you believe they will return someday?” 

“There is always hope,” Mornel took a sip of her drink as her heart twisted. “I cannot sense my brothers across the sea or in the Halls.” 

“I felt them die,” Finrod said suddenly, looking into the flames of the hearth. “My brothers Angrod and Aegnor… Our realms were far but we kept in touch through osanwe. I was riding to their aid during the Battle of Sudden Flame when the dragon got to them. I felt their pain as they burned and I was utterly helpless to do anything. Afterwards I could not bear to use osanwe, even with Galadriel. There was this painful silence where they should be.” 

“Surely they would be re-embodied…” 

“Angrod perhaps, with Eru’s mercy. Aegnor? I fear he may choose to remain within Mandos over his lost love. Naro surprised us all by loving so deeply.” His youngest brother had a bit of a reputation as a lady’s man in Tirion and later Beleriand. Handsome and noble, he was exceptionally kind to all the nissi and he broke many hearts without even realising it.  

“Who is this elleth? Does she still live in Beleriand?” 

“Andreth was no elf, but a mortal maid of the Second-born Children. She has long passed where no elf may follow. He came to me and sought my permission to wed. I told him it was not in Noldor custom to wed in times of war. I thought his passion was a passing fever. Alas, it was not. For fifty cycles of the Sun, they loved each other but were never able to consummate that love before they died… It’s not fair. I have Amarie while Naro has to wait until Arda breaks to…” 

Finrod winced and rubbed his cheek where Mornel had slapped him. 

“I admit you might have made a bad judgement. However, is it any fairer to Amarie that you hurt her in the course of punishing yourself? I doubt your brother would want that. Go write to Amarie, seek her forgiveness and that of her parents. Send her the ring and reaffirm your betrothal. Goodnight, cousin, I trust you know the way back to your rooms,” Mornel excused herself before she broke any more rules of being a gracious hostess to her cousin.  

* * *

“Sire, you let Prince Findarato go to Formenos with Mornel Feanariel?” 

“Yes, we did,” Earwen replied on her husband’s behalf. “It would be good for him…”  

“But the elves there are wild and debauched in their ways! And the climate! Would it not be better if he were to spend his time of convalescence in Valmar with Amarie or perhaps in Alqualonde?” 

Lady Anaire had brought the precious few books as requested. Master Rumil had compiled a dictionary of archaic Quenya and its related dialects. It was a pity that shut up in the palace archives of Tirion, Master Rumil had little opportunity to meet with elves of actual Avarin or Nandorin descent. He did not have the stomach for riding through the wilds as Feanaro did. Feanaro had been in the midst of compiling a dictionary of dialects of the re-embodied Moriquendi before his obsession with the Silmarilli’s creation overtook him. There were a few old scrolls on the customs of Cuivienen, recorded in the old runes.  

“Mornel is a sensible nis and Findarato is in good hands.”  

“But they say the elves of Formenos dance naked under the moon and…”  

“Anaire, we have been through this before. Those rumours of naked dancing are only that – idle gossip. Eldalote has reassured me the dancers do wear loin clothes and…” 

“But they say the Moriquendi would wed their cousins…”  

“As did the Three Kindred before the Great Journey,” Arafinwe snapped. “If I recall correctly, there were a few instances of sibling marriages on the shores of Cuivienen. If there is nothing else, you are dismissed.” His patience was wearing thin. Lady Anaire and several other members of the court were a trial in how they felt that the re-embodied Moriquendi should be excluded from Amanyaran society completely. They were almost as bad as Uncle Ingwe and his courtiers. Anaire hesitated and her eyes alit on Earwen. 

“Earwen, has he any news of my husband and children?” Lady Anaire asked hopefully. 

“Anaire, Nolofinwe died a hero,” Earwen smiled sadly. Finrod had already told his amme of his uncle’s death.  

“What of my children?”  

“Arakano was among the first to fall in Beleriand… The others I know not their fate,” Earwen confessed. With her, Finrod had been guarded in his words. He did mention Turukano founding a city and haven for his people. However, he also mentioned that all the elven realms had fallen save for a small camp along the shore and another on an isle under Lord Cirdan. Queen Falmiril had been overjoyed to learn her cousin Nowe, whom she had thought lost, had not only survived but was now a leader of their people on the Hither Shores. 

Lady Anaire wept and Earwen placed an arm around her. Arafinwe muttered some excuse about studying the scrolls in private and excused himself, leaving the nissi alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finrod has some sense knocked into him by Mornel. Racism does exist even among the Eldar, with many feeling the Calaquendi are above the Moriquendi. 
> 
> I picture Formenos as one of the most northern of the elven settlements and with a temperate climate (including frosts and winters with likelihood of snow). Compared to Tirion and other cities, the climate is harsher and the elves take preparations for winter seriously.


	8. A Surprise Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finrod settles in at Formenos and teaches Mornel a thing or two. A surprise guest comes to Formenos.

If there was one thing about Formenos which reminded Finrod of Beleriand, it was the cold. It was not as bitter as the Helcaraxe but there was enough of a bite to the wind which reminded him of the moorlands near Nargothrond when winter crept in on its hoary feet. In the early days of his stay, Finrod spent his time exploring the keep and the workshops. Mornel soon noted that keeping busy seemed to ease any lingering grief in her cousin. However, Mornel deemed Finrod not quite recovered enough to join in the hunting parties that stocked the larder with boar, venison, and other game for the cold months. 

The following week, Mornel took some time out for a ride to the lake with her cousin. Silvery lake trout were caught barehanded by Silvan elves. Traps were laid for eels. The fish would be salted, dried, or smoked as food for the coming weeks. Finrod enjoyed himself immensely, his grief seemingly lifted. He tried his hand at trout-tickling, over-balanced, and fell into the lake to laughter from the fishing elves. He joined in their mirth good-naturedly. They stayed the night at Surihin’s cottage and enjoyed a hearty meal of Avarin-Telerin fusion cuisine before departing at dawn with some smoked fish for the keep.  

At the Harvest Fest, the last of the crops were ceremoniously gathered and brought in through the gates at the first moonrise of winter by Lady Mornel amidst prayers of gratitude to the Lord of the Hunt and the Queen of the Earth for their bounty. The elves then celebrated with song and feasting. There were games of skill and dancing. Finrod tried his hand at darts and beat Mornel. All the elves made merry late into the night. 

Morning found a line of grumpy elves, many the worse for wear from too much wine, outside the common baths. The furnace had gone out again. Restarting the furnace was slow and tedious work. A cold bath was not so bad at other times of the year, but an icy blast had blown in and the baths were freezing. Mornel was perturbed to find among the waiting elves her barefooted cousin.   

“Mornel, I think you need to revamp your furnace. When was the last time it was overhauled?” Finrod asked as he hopped from foot to foot on the icy stone tiles. 

“When we rebuilt the baths,” Mornel frowned. It had been a few yeni and the baths were one of the first parts of the keep to be rebuilt. Mahtan had personally put in the first copper pipes to replace those rusted or broken from disuse. The baths have since been expanded to cope with the growing population. 

“I had a similar problem in Nargothrond… Cousin, if you don’t mind, I think we need to relook at some of your city’s workings, especially the plumbing and heating,” Finrod suggested. “I’m sure Formenos has grown much since the early days…” 

They did not manage to get the furnace started up properly in the end. They only managed to fill the baths with choking smoke. Everyone left knowing ice-cold baths would be the norm for a while. Few elves in the keep would trouble themselves boiling kettles of water for a bath. After a hearty breakfast of rye bread, berry-jam, and smoked fish, the cousins went to Mornel’s study to spend a few hours discussing the plans for not only the bath-furnace, but the waste disposal and central heating systems.  

It was dark by the time they concluded their discussions without even breaking for the midday meal. It would be a challenge to renovate the keep but one Mornel felt certain her people could meet. Moreover, Finrod’s idea to unite the scattered workshops around Formenos into larger, communal ones based on craft made perfect sense for encouraging collaboration and more economic sharing of common resources like heating and waste disposal. 

“I doubt we will have that many fish in the lake if the dyers keep letting their waste water end up there,” Mornel jotted down her cousin’s suggestion for water treatment. 

“What of travel and communication between Formenos and the other cities during the winter?” Finrod added. He had remarked on the rough road even in good weather and daylight.  _What more during the winter?_   

“We get few visitors after the frost but we still keep in touch by pigeon. Do you wish to write to your parents, or perhaps Amarie? The weather is fair enough to send one aloft.” Mornel reared a colony of trained pigeons noted for their speed, stamina, and willingness to fly even in rough weather. Pigeons were never on the menu in Formenos since Mornel took charge. 

“I will write to Amme,” Finrod decided as he banished Amarie’s smiling face from his mind’s eye. He did not have the will to face her yet. 

* * *

 

“You are late to visit Formenos,” Tatie chided in her accented Quenya. She led a gelding on which a hooded figure sat cradling her arm. The road was uneven and each jolt brought a whimper of pain from the rider despite the guide’s best efforts to avoid the potholes. 

“Most riders here know to watch for ice on the road at this time of the year. You could have lain there till spring if not for your friend…” 

“Lay off her, Tatie. You are starting to sound like that windbag in Valmar,” Helwien called out from some distance behind them. She was leading a mare with an injured leg. They were fortunate that the leg was not broken or they would have to put the beast out of her misery. She might have torn a muscle but they could only deal with it at the stables of Formenos. 

“Oh, you mean Ingwe? He was a fussy baby. Helped his amme watch the little ones a few times, nothing like his sister… Indis, is it?” 

They had arrived at the gates and Tatie hailed the door-elf, a sleepy-eyed ner. The elf rubbed his eyes and peered at the newcomers, greeting Helwien with a hug on recognizing his grand-niece. “You chose a bad time to bring a guest. Lord Manwe is feeling a bit testy and snow’s coming from the heights. But Lady Varda will grant us a lovely sky-show this season.” 

“Send for a healer, Uncle. She took a tumble. I will see to our horses. Pray tell, is Finrod here?” Helwien asked. 

“The lady and her guest have been in the study since morning. Problem with the baths again. Water’s freezing. There will be Council called within the week. Your aunt just sent up their dinner,” the door-elf replied, ignoring Tatie’s tirade on elves going soft. _What harm could a bit of cold water do?_

* * *

The fire in the brazier crackled, warming the room. Outside the window, coloured ribbons of light danced in the sky. The elf-bards called them Lady Varda’s ribbons. The beautiful sight was a consolation for the cold this far north. Mornel knew she would need to call the Council soon, especially the masons, smiths, and plumbers. The baths had to be closed during the works. A temporary bath-house must be provided for the inhabitants. Finrod shared much of his experiences dealing with a growing population. In Nargothrond, his task was complicated by the need for secrecy and the problems of living underground. He learned from the dwarves how to install shafts and vents for allowing fresh air into the caves and how to deal with the constant damp seeping in from the nearby river. 

Both cousins dined heartily. Their plates were empty now, aside from a few bones. The cook’s wild duck with thyme was delicious. Finrod had attempted to write a letter to his parents but gave up in favour of joining Mornel in watching the dancing lights outside. Mornel’s study was tucked away in a tower and offered a stunning view of the surroundings from the windows which covered at least two-thirds of the walls. It had once been used as an observatory by the Noldor in the early days under Mornel, but a larger observatory had been built for the astronomers some distance away by the lake and the tower at Formenos was vacated. 

The kitchens had also sent up a bowl of chestnuts. Mornel pierced the tough skins with a knife before setting them out on a grill over the fire. Soon the fragrance of the roasted nuts filled the study. 

“Lady, you have a visitor,” a snowy-white owl hooted as she alit on the sill of the open window. “She comes along the stairs.” 

“Who can it be? _”_  Mornel asked softly in owl. Perhaps the kitchen had sent someone up to collect their plates. Finrod raised an eyebrow on hearing his cousin apparently reply to the owl. The only other Noldo he knew of who could converse so freely with the birds was Celegorm. 

“Female, bright hair. Not one I know. Came with Loud Red Hair,” the owl hooted before swooping down onto a hapless mouse scurrying across the empty courtyard. Owls had the sharpest eyes of any bird in the dark but they were prone to be easily distracted by prey. 

Mornel rose to her feet, feeling the pins and needles from sitting cross-legged so long roasting chestnuts. Ever the gentleman, Finrod stood to help steady her. Mornel gently brushed his hand aside. Loud Red Hair was the owl’s nickname for Helwien. Bird and nis had been at odds since the young owl dropped a dead mouse into Helwien’s dying vat, ruining the entire batch. Helwien retaliated by trapping the owl and dying her feathers a bright pink. The feud now rested after much mediation by Mornel. The owls were of great aid controlling the rodent population and much loved by the local farmers. 

Someone was knocking on the door, almost timidly. Mornel strode over to open it. She broke into a smile when she saw who was standing there. “Come on in,” she invited her visitor. “And whatever happened to you?” 

Finrod gasped as Amarie limped into the room. Her hair was a bit mussed and one arm was bound in a sling. There was dirt and grass stains on her skirts despite her efforts to clean them away.   

“A-Amarie?” Finrod exclaimed. “T-this is a surprise…” 

“Hullo, Findarato. I hope I am not imposing…” 

“No, not at all. I trust a healer has seen to you already? You should be resting. I will have a room and warm bath prepared. Cousin, you will chat with our guest for a-while, wouldn’t you?” Mornel chattered on. She stepped out of the room before Finrod could protest, leaving the lovers in awkward silence.

* * *

“Child, you have not yet told us how you convinced them to let their daughter travel to Formenos with you,” Tatie exclaimed as she rubbed the ointment into the mare’s injured leg. Helwien laughed as she brushed the burrs from her gelding’s coat. The Vanyar had a tendency to fuss too much about propriety.  

“We did not lie to her parents at all. Eldalote was in Valmar visiting at her aunt’s and helped us a bit. We told her parents Amarie will be visiting Formenos with the wife of a Noldor prince as chaperone. We just did not state which one.” 

“What will Eldalote say if they meet her in Valmar?” 

“She’s no longer in Valmar. She left on the same day we set out, only she’s gone to Yavanna’s Pastures to visit her sister who is a disciple there. Despite what they say about the Feanorions, Carnistir is still a grandson of Finwe and prince by blood,” Helwien replied. It had taken the pair a while to convince Amarie their plan would work. Poor Amarie had been moping about wondering if she would ever hear from Finrod again. 

Amarie had been worried at first. She had not travelled with frost on the road before. Her boots were not warm enough and they had to buy a warmer pair from a house along the way. They were two sizes too big and she stuffed rags into them to make them fit. She managed admirably despite her inexperience and discomfort. It was only a few miles from their destination that her mare stepped onto a patch of ice and skidded, tumbling her rider from the saddle. 

Helwien hoped Amarie had the good sense to rest up like the healer recommended. It was not as though Finrod was going anywhere. 

“How was the new sheer fabric received in Valmar?” Tatie asked as she washed the greasy ointment from her hands in a basin of icy water and dried them on a towel. 

“Ingwe did not find it that pleasing, but the nissi love it. I think their husbands would really enjoy the new material in their bedrooms, even they have to agree with their king in public,” Helwien fumbled with her saddle bag and handed a soft scrap of fabric to Tatie. 

“You had to stitch it into a sheer undergarment before showing it to the nobles,” Tatie giggled and waved the lime-green chemise Helwien had taken from her saddle bag. 

“The Crown Princess has placed an order, a bolt of each colour. I believe brightly-hued sheer sleeves and over-skirts will be all the rage in Valmar come summer. You know Sorna is quite a trendsetter,” Helwien preened confidently before joining in with Tatie’s laughter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mornel did not plan on having Amarie or Helwien visit but this is a golden opportunity with Finrod and Amarie stuck in Formenos thanks to snow. With Amarie injured, Mornel could find excuses to get Finrod to help take care of her. 
> 
> I seriously doubt they would have the actual Northern Lights given the dynamics of their creation but I like the idea of something similar for northern Aman.


	9. Poppy Milk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finrod and Amarie muff their chance to make up. An accident exposes Finrod’s vulnerability to all.

_It is official, sad as I am to record this for all posterity in my journal. My noble cousin Finrod is a fool when it comes to matters of the heart._

“Amarie, what brings you here?” Finrod struggled to compose himself. “The climate here can be harsh. You should be in Valmar, with your parents…”

“Where is my place, if not with you?”  Amarie retorted. “Findarato, know this – although we have yet to bind ourselves before Eru Iluvatar, I see myself as your spouse. It was a mistake asking Mornel to return my betrothal ring on my behalf.”

“Alas, I- I have lost it back in Lorien – there is no further use of it,” Finrod lied and glanced away, trying to ignore the small weight around his neck. _Why had he not taken it out to show her? Or better yet, slip it upon her finger as he had done all those yeni ago?_

A stricken look passed over Amarie’s face, followed by a flash of understanding.

“Findarato, will you deign to look at me, speak with me? Tell me please. I know you are hiding something from us, a burden upon the soul. Please let me share your burden… I am not some frail flower. I was once your betrothed and I would gladly be again and more!”

“Nay, my lady. I will not burden another…” Finrod shook his head.

“So there is still no hope for me then?” Amarie laughed bitterly. “All this time I had hoped, waited all for naught!” Finrod felt a stab of guilt at her words.

“I am sorry…” he added as Amarie strode out of the room with a swirl of her skirts, just as Mornel came in with a jug of spiced cider. _What did you do now, Finrod?_ Her eyes berated her cousin as she put down the jug and went after Amarie.

* * *

Mornel caught up with Amarie in the hallway outside the healing ward where Amarie had dissolved in a flood of tears. Mornel gave a weary sigh and waved away a curious apprentice healer who had poked her nose out of the ward at the commotion. The residents of Formenos were stoic by nature and tearful outbursts were rare. Perhaps a good night’s rest would ease Amarie.

“Milady, does the patient require more poppy tea for her arm?” the apprentice asked helpfully in Quenya. Mornel shook her head.

“Not now, we will send for it later if need be,” Mornel replied. Poppy gave relief to pain but some elves could develop a dependency on the drug. Mornel trusted her healers to prescribe the tea and more potent tincture both with discretion and in moderation.

“Lady Mornel, could I have a word with you please?” a senior healer popped his head out of the door.

“Could you speak now?” Mornel asked. She wanted to spend the next few hours consoling Amarie in her room. The healer coughed uncomfortably and glanced at Amarie, who was still hiccupping from having cried so hard.

“It’s your cousin, Prince Findarato… He has been asking tincture of poppy from the apprentices for his leg, a little too often. Yet he refused to allow me to examine it…”

This was disturbing news to Mornel. _How could she have missed it?_ There were other uses for poppy besides pain relief. Was Finrod suffering from bad dreams? Some elves used the milder tea to aid them in seeking reverie. Still, to be over-reliant on poppy was not a good thing. _Never mind Finrod for now, she would deal with him later._

* * *

In his own chamber, Finrod took out the vial of poppy milk he had coaxed from one of the new apprentices. In the day, there were plenty of distractions. In the depths of night, there was nothing to take his mind off Tol-in-Gaurhoth and his time there. As the nights lengthened, the memories came with a vengeance. Carefully, he measured out the dose needed to send him into a dreamless oblivion. In Lorien, Lady Este’s Maia helpers were constantly by his bedside to soothe him. Outside Lorien, he was alone with his nightmares.

Mornel was no fool but she was distracted by the myriad tasks of running a sprawling town like Formenos and its often volatile inhabitants. He could hide his need for poppy from her, for now. He had not expected Amarie to come here to him. _Amarie._ He had hurt her again with his cruel words… But it’s better to leave her with the image of her golden prince than to…

He mixed the dose with warm milk and honey to mask the taste and downed it. Drowsily, he crawled under the quilt and drifted off into a drugged sleep. With luck, the werewolves would not come stalking into his dreams tonight.

* * *

 

“I know he is hurting inside but he would not share his burdens with me,” Amarie whispered over the posset of mulled wine she was nursing. “I would rather he had fallen for another than not to trust me enough not to share with me…”

Mornel nodded. She had thought her cousin healed when he showed so much interest in the activities of Formenos but in light of the healer’s revelation about the poppy, it could only be a mask to hide his wounds. He had given her sound advice about running a city. However, who knew what nightmares from Beleriand haunted him still when he was alone? _Were all the fear to be released from Mandos in a similar state? Or was this due to her cousin being released too soon?_ Olorin promised to visit over the winter. Perhaps she could ask him then.

* * *

Morning brought its own problems for Mornel even before breakfast. A party of bison-hunters had met with mishap and spent the better part of the night carting their wounded to Formenos. Tying back her hair in a crude ponytail, donning her robe, and slipping on fur-lined slippers, Mornel hurried down to the open courtyard to break up a fistfight between the chief hunter and the father of one of the wounded. It was late in the year for such a hunt. The risk was magnified by the presence of young in the herd and new, inexperienced hunters. Mistakes were made and a stampede was triggered off. Several elves were caught up in it. Fortunately, no one had died, yet. The bison hunt was a coming-of-age ritual for some Avari in the east. The bison were far more dangerous than boar or even bear. Such Avari kept large wolf-like hounds to aid them in the hunt. The fight had stirred the pack into frenzied howls and snarls, keeping the healers from approaching the wounded.

“Break it up!” Mornel yelled and gave a shrill whistle to call for order. The hounds ignored her and were busy snapping at each other, spurred on by their masters’ quarrel. Someone threw a punch and the hunters were now fighting among themselves. Swearing in Sindarin, Mornel grabbed a heavy cudgel and waded into the thick of the mass of wolfhounds and elves to restore order.

* * *

_He had gotten the dose wrong, Finrod thought. He could see the red eyes glowing in the shadows of the dungeon like embers. He tried to move but could not. He was weighed down by unseen chains. He could not see beyond the red eyes, if there were any of his fellow captives with him. Was he alone? He shuddered. The howling and snarling were getting louder now. Next came the screams…_

Finrod snapped into wakefulness, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. Yet the howling continued. _He had not escaped Sauron after all. He was trapped in his nightmare, no – He had never died, entered Mandos nor been reborn into Aman. It was all a trick of Sauron to torment him further._ The fallen Maia had toyed with the captives endlessly – offering them glimpses of hope only to crush it into the dirt as they watched. How Sauron had conjured before him images of his parents, his siblings or his beloved…

The howling continued and it sounded so near. In a blind panic, Finrod ran from his room clad only in his nightshirt.

“My love, what’s wrong?” Amarie cried out as a wild-eyed Finrod fled past her. He had to get out even if he knew in his heart escape from Sauron’s sorcery was impossible. He ran past more startled elves and out of the door to be greeted by a seething mass of fur, fangs, and bloodied elves. He screamed and fell to his knees.

“Finrod?” Mornel paused as she smacked an over-excited hound lightly with her cudgel to get him off a hunter. The startled hounds froze at his scream, as did their masters. Amarie threw her uninjured arm around Finrod, trying to soothe him with her touch and words. Finrod clung to her, unseeing and trembling like a leaf in a gale. Mornel barked orders to the healers and hunters to have the hounds rounded up and the injured moved to the healing ward. They had to see to broken bones, concussions, and now fresh bites and scratches inflicted by over-excited hounds in the scuffle. One snowy white wolfhound padded away from the pack as the uninjured hunters rounded them up. It loped over to Finrod and Amarie and cocked its head curiously.

Finrod did not see a curious hound peering at him. What he saw was a large wolf, ready to pounce upon him and tear out his throat. _Amarie._ He pushed his beloved behind him. The hound only yawned and wagged its tail lazily.

“Snowdrop! Here, girl!” The hound turned and padded off at a leisurely pace to her waiting master. Mornel patted the hound as she passed it in approaching her cousin. Her sleeve had been ripped when one hound bit into it during the melee. The pack was now under control and the healers were skilled enough to treat the wounded without her supervision.  

“Finrod, are you well?” Mornel asked. Finrod slumped against Amarie as the tension left him. Amarie’s betrothal ring lay exposed on its thong around his neck and Amarie was weeping softly into his hair. Her cousin seemed confused, possibly still in the throes of the poppy milk or his nightmares. “Would you like me to send for Aunt Findis or your Amme?”

Finrod slowly shook his head. Now he had really muffed it for everyone. Amarie knew now how broken he was, and how he had lied to her about the ring. Mornel checked his pupils, no doubt looking for signs of any lingering effects of the poppy. The adrenaline gone, he had to be helped to his feet.

“Please, tell me this is not some sorcery of Sauron’s…” Finrod murmured as if to himself. “Not a nightmare…”

“It is not, cousin. You have been released from Mandos and came to visit Formenos. Amarie is also here,” Mornel soothed. “You are safe in Aman, and Amarie still loves you.” Amarie re-affirmed this statement by nodding her head vigorously and patting Finrod’s hand.

“Sauron’s wolves… the blood…” Finrod protested as the nissi sat him down in a chair in the chief healer’s office. The chief healer would be asked to see to his leg and judge if it had healed completely as Mornel believed.

“Those were not Sauron’s wolves but Avarin wolfhounds bred for bison-hunting. There was an accident on the high plains towards the west of Formenos. A group of hunters were caught up in a stampede and they brought their wounded here to be treated,” Mornel explained as the chief healer felt and prodded her cousin’s leg. With a grunt, the healer pronounced it fully mended and should not cause the patient any further problems.

“What of Sauron’s wolves, cousin? What memories from Beleriand linger still such that you need such the aid of poppy to find sleep?” Mornel coaxed.

“I-I do not wish to speak of it…” Finrod looked away. Mornel did not press him further but called for one of the bison-hunters. A short conversation later, the hunter left and returned with Snowdrop. Finrod’s eyes widened when he saw the wolfhound and his breath hitched. He gripped the armrests tightly. _Not a wolf…_ he chided himself as the hound cocked her head with her pink tongue lolling. Mornel felt the hound’s belly. The hunter was right. Snowdrop was carrying pups – pups he had promised to her for treating his wounded kin and as apology for the morning’s commotion.

“She’s in no state for hunting. The pups are close,” Mornel chided the shamefaced hunter. “We can expect them within the week, if not sooner.”

Amarie shyly offered her hand for Snowdrop to sniff at before rewarding the hound with a scratch behind the ears. The hounds in Valmar were sleeker and smaller in built than Snowdrop. Snowdrop licked her hand, causing Amarie to giggle at the sensation. The hound padded the short distance over to Finrod and plonked herself down at his feet with a yawn. The prince went rigid at the nearness of the large wolfhound. The chief hunter shook his head.

“Snowdrop thinks your guest needs protecting. From what in your house I do not know. She’s a wise lady. Sees into the heart, she does. Tell you what, I will leave Snowdrop with you and come back for one of her pups when they are old enough.”

“Is this some ploy to saddle me with a bitch too old for the hunt?” Mornel teased. The chief hunter only laughed. Amarie had knelt down beside the outstretched hound and was stroking her flank. The bulging of her belly was more obvious now. Finrod had relaxed his grip on the armrests a little and was studying the hound at his feet. Perhaps she reminded him of other hunting hounds he had known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some PTSD flashbacks from Finrod. Don’t worry, Mornel will get him off that poppy-milk reliance.


	10. Puppies and Oranges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oranges in winter from Tirion bring back warm memories for Finrod.

Mornel quietly confronted Finrod about the poppy, as distasteful a task as it was. It was necessary. She demanded Finrod surrender all of the poppy tincture he had obtained from the apprentices. After much denial, he finally surrendered a half-empty vial of the mixture. 

“If you are troubled by nightmares still, I will be glad to sing some songs of healing to ease you,” Mornel had volunteered. She had taken some lessons in singing the songs under Serelinde. To their dismay, Finrod declined her offer and that of Amarie. Little did the nissi knew that Finrod still held a vial of poppy. He was careful to hide the tell-tale signs of using the drug in the following days, avoiding the pair if he had dosed himself too heavily the night before. This deliberate avoidance alarmed Amarie but slipped unnoticed by Mornel. 

“You are being a fool, my prince,” Helwien snorted when she encountered a clearly-drugged Finrod staggering to the makeshift baths one morning after having misjudged the dose the night before – a common occurrence now that the nightmares came more frequently. He had awoken in a state of grogginess but the shock of a cold bath should rouse him sufficiently to sit at breakfast. “Poppy will not keep the bad dreams away but give them more teeth to bite,” she called out after him. 

“Will you tell Mornel then?” Finrod turned to face Helwien after he had dunked his head into a basin of icy water. 

“She needs not the trouble of nursing you on top of running this place,” Helwien retorted as she emptied a bucket of cold water over her head. The elves of Formenos were not shy about their bodies. It was not uncommon for both sexes to share the same bathing pool nude. She repeated the process with the bucket twice before towelling herself off. 

“Please don’t tell Amarie…” 

“What does it matter to you if I do tell? You broke off with her, didn’t you?” Helwien raised an eyebrow and flicked her damp red tresses over her shoulder. 

“Please promise me not to tell… I can’t bear that she…” Finrod clammed up as a troop of laughing apprentices entered the bathhouse. Helwien only shrugged, threw on her shift and strolled off. It seemed to Finrod that Amarie kept glancing his way over the breakfast table while Mornel chatted in Sindarin with her Silvan guests from Lord Orome’s Woods. _Did they know about the poppy?_ He could not tell. Helwien had stopped by only long enough to grab a small loaf of bread before hurrying off to the workshops.

* * *

Despite the blankets laid out by Mornel next to the kitchen stove, Snowdrop chose to whelp in Finrod’s bed, dragging herself up two winding flights of stairs to do so. Finrod was lying in one of his poppy-induced reveries when the hound scrabbled her way through his unlatched door. Normally he would have locked himself in for the night but he was in such a state the night before after hearing a shepherd speak of wolves prowling the high meadows that he had fumbled with the latch and it had not caught. Mornel had agreed to have sturdy stone buildings built to replace the wooden lean-tos for the shepherds in the glens of the Pelori where their flocks grazed. That would take time and be complete in summer. Should the wolves continue to prove a nuisance, a hunting party would be dispatched. The wilds of Aman did have its predators, though most did not harass the elves. _The predators had a role in weeding out the weak and sick among the deer and bison,_ Lord Orome had stated when Yavanna introduced the wolves and bears. Moreover, wolf-hunting could provide sport for his disciples should they tire of deer.   

The prince awoke to the coppery tang of blood in the air and Snowdrop’s distressed whimpers. Opening his eyes, he was faced with the muzzle of what seemed to be a giant wolf.  Thinking himself back in Sauron’s snare, Finrod screamed. Snowdrop whined and licked his face. 

“Findarato! What’s wrong?” Amarie came running. Mornel had put her just across the hallway from Finrod’s room and she had heard his scream. She ran through the open door to find a shaking Finrod in his bed face-to-face with Snowdrop, who was lying on top of the coverlet. There were two shivering scraps of damp fur on the coverlet beside her. 

“Findarato, it’s only Snowdrop…” Amarie coaxed as she eased the hound off Finrod so that he could get up. She grabbed the two new-born puppies and awkwardly wrapped them in her dressing robe to keep them warm. Her injured arm was still bound up in its sling. Snowdrop dropped her head back onto the bed and whimpered. The third pup was too big and had gotten stuck in the birth-canal. Its dam was now struggling to bring it into the world. 

“Findarato, I must go fetch Mornel…” Amarie exclaimed when Snowdrop’s dire state became apparent to her. Before Finrod could stop her, she was off into the bewildering maze of corridors and chambers which formed the keep. Snowdrop whimpered again in pain and nuzzled his hand, seeking some small comfort. He had tended to his own hunting hounds in both Aman and Beleriand. He hummed a melody which was not quite a song of healing but one he took comfort in as a child. He stroked the wolfhound’s head. The poor bitch was exhausted _. If he not been under the poppy’s spell, would he have noticed her distress sooner?_ He promised to surrender the little which remained of his poppy to Mornel. A faint yelp reminded Finrod of the two puppies. Gently, he gathered them up and held them before their mother for her to smell. 

“You poor thing…” Mornel sat down beside the struggling hound as soon as she came into the room with Tatie and Amarie. The older nis felt the bitch’s belly and where a paw stuck out from her body. Tatie shook her head. The unfortunate pup was stillborn. 

“We have to cut her open to save the rest – there are at least three more inside,” Tatie explained. “Hold her steady.” There was little time to lose and she took out her knife. The bitch yipped and kicked out weakly as Tatie sliced into her belly. Finrod took her large muzzle and held it in his lap with the puppies, singing softly to keep her calm. Mornel sang a song of comforting as she held the hound’s body down. Finrod had to look away as the coppery smell of blood became more acute. It was underlined by the sour tang of the birth fluids. The coverlet was soaked in them. Amarie aided where she could, passing towels and thread to Tatie and Mornel. Finrod was no stranger to surgeries, having assisted in the healing tents and wards in Beleriand. The smell and sounds were all too familiar to him. He felt Amarie’s hand on his shoulder, patting him reassuringly. 

Finally, the exhausted mother was stitched up and her five surviving pups cleaned, dried, and feeding greedily from her teats. The family rested on a rug before a brazier to keep them warm. Mornel sent for fresh linens for Finrod’s bed. Snowdrop was a large hound and it would be difficult getting her downstairs until she had recovered enough from Tatie’s crude surgery. 

“I guess she will be staying with you, Finrod,” Mornel remarked causally as she pocketed the vial of poppy Finrod surrendered to her once Amarie left for more blankets. “Will it be a problem?” 

“None at all,” Finrod replied glibly but his eyes darted to Snowdrop’s wolfish bulk. 

“Amarie’s room is just across from yours… if you need help…” 

“I don’t…” 

“Finrod, I know you were once a king in Beleriand and lord over a realm. But even kings need help sometimes. Even your father needed help running Tirion,” she patted her cousin on the shoulder. “At the very least, you can keep Amarie company. Her arm will take a week or more to heal fully. She might get bored. There’s a small library in the West Tower, mostly technical texts. We will like to compile a record of the deeds of the Eldar in Beleriand. Perhaps you can aid us in that.” 

“Very well, I will contribute where I can,” Finrod replied, relieved he could be of some use to his cousin. Having a task would stop him from thinking back on those dark dreams. A growl from his belly reminded him that he had not eaten breakfast yet.

 

* * *

The following day was clear enough for Master Olorin to fly in on one of the Great Eagles with letters from Tirion. Arafinwe had written to his son and niece. He also sent a basket of fruit. Mornel greeted Olorin warmly with a kiss on his cheek. Amarie dropped a curtesy while Helwien inquired about the happenings back in Tirion. Olorin informed her in jest that her best workers had not yet run off to join a rival dyehouse yet, but might with the standard of the new recruits she took in this year. Helwien responded with a guffaw and slapped the Maia on the back. 

“His Majesty remembers how you used to enjoy tangerines from the gardens…” Olorin smiled as he handed the basket to the prince. Finrod blinked away tears at the memory of lazy afternoons spent in Indis’ orangery. He always enjoyed the sweet tangerines and he had missed them terribly in Beleriand. Sometimes he would dream of the fruit at night. He had kept the seeds from the last tangerine he shared with his sister on the Grinding Ice. He gave half of them to Turgon in hopes he would plant them in his own hidden city. He kept his own seeds until he came to the fertile-looking lands near Nargothrond. His seeds never spouted. Turgon’s did and he sent a basket of the fruit to his cousin as a gift when Finduilas was born. They had turned tough and leathery by the time they reached Finrod. 

These tangerines were fresh and a little chilled from the crisp winter air. Finrod took one from the basket and inhaled deeply of the citrus scent emanating from it. He would offer some to his cousin and Amarie. Amarie enjoyed infusing her tea with the fragrant peel. They had discussed planting a grove of their own on the foothills outside Tirion and building a villa with sprawling vistas and terraces among the orange trees where their offspring could grow up enjoying the golden fruit from the surrounding trees. Amarie enjoyed wearing white orange blossoms in her hair in the heady days of their courtship. In Beleriand he had often dreamed of Amarie wearing her crown of orange blossoms as if she were a bride. 

Olorin coughed. “You could still have that orange grove and villa you have always dreamed of with Amarie, you know…” he nudged the prince. The nissi had wandered off to the far end of the parapet where they were speaking with the Great Eagle. Mornel was interested in the dynamics of bird flight and the eagle was trying to explain that Helwien’s theory of feathers only as the key to flight was misguided. Sewing feathers to one’s sleeves would not grant one the power of flight and he would strongly advise against anyone attempting it. 

“M-master Olorin… I don’t think…” 

“You just need to heal. Allow yourself to be healed, Findarato.” 

“But, I fear I am damaged beyond…” 

“Nonsense, Eru freed you from the Doom for a reason.” 

“As an example of what awaits us in the Hither Shores?” Finrod retorted bitterly. Olorin had been a frequent caller on his grandfather in Tirion and Finrod had discussed philosophy with the Maia on occasion. Sometimes he had found himself questioning the intentions of the Valar as his uncle did but to a lesser extent. 

“Nay. You were released in light of your noble deeds in Beleriand with regards to Beren and Luthien. Yavanna and Este set the time of winter as a season of rest, where plants and animals alike could recover and wax strong. Let your time at Formenos be a time of healing for you and Amarie both. Now, how do you find your little cousin?” Olorin’s face crinkled in a smile. 

“Well, she is an able leader and a modest one,” Finrod replied. “Formenos does seem to be thriving under her.” 

“This was not achieved in a day, you know. She had help from Mahtan, your father, and many others along the way to get where she is now. Likewise, your healing will take time. Allow yourself to take that time, allow those who care for you to help you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Olorin is giving some much needed advice to Finrod. Hopefully, his stay at Formenos will become more tolerable for him and his loved ones. 
> 
> I like the idea of Finrod’s future household in a Mediterranean-style villa surrounded by orange trees and vineyards. I think he deserves that after being stuck in a cave-city for so long. It’s a pity his orange seeds got waterlogged in Nargothrond.


	11. Winter in Formenos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finrod and Amarie reconcile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Formenos rests in winter. Memories of the Grinding Ice return to haunt Finrod even as he mends his relationship with Amarie.

_Winter is a time of rest,_ Master Olorin had said. Things did seem to slow down a little in Formenos after the frenetic bustle of the harvest. Many long winter nights were spent in the grand hall listening to the bards. After entrusting the plans for renovations to her craftsmen, Mornel turned her attention to re-shoeing her steed. Fearocco had once lashed out at the farrier and broken his arm. Mornel had since mastered the craft of hammering and fitting the shoes on Fearocco out of necessity as no other elf was keen to risk his hooves afterwards. 

Mornel would chat with her steed as she worked on the horseshoes. Now she chatted about her cousin and Amarie. 

 _Forgive me, princess, but I cannot see why those two don’t just start mating already_ , Fearocco snorted. _This courtship thing has gone long enough, even for your kind. They do love each other, don’t they?_  

“It doesn’t work that way, Fearocco…” Mornel wagged a finger at her horse. “Now, let’s start with the left rear hoof.” She reached into the water bucket with her tongs. The horseshoe would have cooled enough to be fitted to the horse’s hoof without burning him. Fearocco obliged. 

“Hullo Mornel!” Helwien called out a greeting as she leaned over the bottom of the smithy gate. “Fitting new shoes again? I thought we did that last month…” 

“He lost all four of them again,” Mornel grumbled. “Last night. I have no idea how he does it.” 

“You know, that sounds like Itarille. That little one used to drive her parents and grandparents to distraction with her missing shoes,” Helwien chuckled. “Your cousin is freezing his ass off in the library. Haven’t you sent any braziers up to him? Also, I doubt he will get any work done with all those nosy elves dropping by for a peek at the prince.” 

“Oh dear, I do hope he is not too bothered,” Mornel fitted the last of the horseshoes onto Fearocco’s hooves and tapped in the nails. 

“Also, are you sure you do not wish for my help in taking care of those puppies?” Helwien added. “You did agree to give Chief Linwe one of those pups.”  

“No, Amarie is taking care of that,” Mornel replied with a smile. “She does have a gentle touch and I think the puppies are thriving in her care.”

* * *

It was difficult. Finrod would not lie to himself and pretend otherwise. To record the deeds of the Exiles was to relive his own experiences. He started chronologically with the Crossing of the Ice but faltered halfway through, overwhelmed by the memories he had thought long suppressed. He struggled to put the dreary trek into words. He did not realise he had been crying as he recorded the loss of Elenwe until he saw how his tears had smudged and ruined the writing.  

 _The sharp cracks of the Grinding Ice under their feet had become so commonplace now, it was easy to ignore the warnings – until someone fell through into the icy blackness underneath. A harsh cry of surprise and then despair broke the starlit silence._

_“Elenwe! No!” Turukano’s cry of grief rent the air. Findarato ran on ahead and saw the gaping blackness in the jagged ice. His cousin was shivering, clasping his daughter close in his arms. Their hair was frosted from the cold air as soon as they had scrambled out of the water. Findekano was wrapping warm blankets around them before they froze to death. He glimpsed something pale in the water – Elenwe’s hair as she sank into the dark depths. He knew she was gone even as his brothers stopped him from leaping in after her._  

A whine and a nudge from a wet nose roused Finrod from his memories. “Hullo, Snowdrop…” Finrod smiled as he scratched behind the wolfhound’s ears. 

The cramped library at Formenos was not at all conducive for writing his annals of Beleriand in. Elves were constantly dropping by to refer to some obscure text. Mornel had declared the library open to all. There was a nasty draft coming in through the windows even when shuttered. The librarian had declined to allow any form of flame in the room, claiming the risk of fire, not even candles. Finrod had to write by the light of a Feanorian lamp. Such lamps emitted no heat. Even with two pairs of socks on, he risked frostbite. Hence he had retreated to the comfort of his quarters. 

There was a small tapping on his door. “Come in!” Finrod called out. “The door’s unlocked.” He knew who it would be. 

Sure enough, Amarie opened the door. Amarie had taken on the task of hand-feeding the pups when it became clear Snowdrop was not producing enough milk. There were no lactating bitches in the kennels but the kennel-master had recommended goat’s milk. The puppies whined and yipped as they clamoured for Amarie’s attention even though they had yet to open their eyes. It was a tedious process and Amarie could spend two hours or more patiently trying to coax them to suckle from the skin of milk. Snowdrop gamely allowed the puppies to be plucked from her side in turn to be fed. Amarie lavished special attention on the smaller and weaker pups so that they would not be left behind their stronger littermates. 

Finrod stole glances at Amarie as she urged a particularly finicky pup to suckle. Olorin’s words had reminded him of those halcyon days before the Darkening. The nightmares still came but with less intensity and frequency. He would awake in a cold sweat but there was Snowdrop and her puppies to remind him that he was no longer on the Ice or in Sauron’s dungeon. Snowdrop would often pad to his bed over and nudge him awake if the dreams got too real for comfort. A small charcoal brazier was kept constantly lit for the puppies’ sake and its glow was a welcome sight in the dark of night. 

“Amarie…” Finrod screwed up his courage to approach her. “I’m so very sorry… for leaving you…” 

“You did not ask if I would follow, as Elenwe’s husband did of her. Would you have let me follow if I had asked?” Amarie asked as she stroked the puppy on her lap. 

“Nay, I could not have demanded it of you, nor could I allow you to fall under the Doom. Had you followed, I would have beseeched you return with my father. You are too precious to me,” Finrod confessed.   

Amarie glanced up as he knelt down beside her. She returned the last of the puppies to Snowdrop’s side. Amarie could see the ring hanging around his neck. 

“Would you have me back?” Finrod asked. Amarie’s eyes shone with tears, of joy or sorrow, he could not tell. Snowdrop chose this moment to give Amarie a push so that she fell into his arms. The couple gasped in shock and delicious surprise. It had been so long since they had been in such close embrace. Amarie blushed furiously. This was against all her Vanyarin upbringing but she made no attempt to pull away. The last time they had been so close was in the hours before the Noldor host left Tirion. 

“Yes, I would love to be yours. You promised then you would return and you have, my prince,” Amarie replied as she wiped tears of joy from her eyes. Finrod swallowed hard. He took hold of her hand and kissed the back of her fingers chastely. He did not wish to lose Amarie, Finrod admitted to himself. He still yearned for his own place, but it was no longer the glories of Nargothrond or a sceptre of rule. What he desired was a simple abode with Amarie as his wife and their children, Eru willing, around them. 

“Forgive me, Amarie. I have hurt you… far too much…” He undid the throng around his neck, took the ring in his hand and slipped it onto her finger. Amarie felt her heart soar. 

 _It will be a hard road but we would see it through…_ Amarie promised silently as their eyes met. Finrod gave a sigh of contentment and relief as she leaned against him. It had gone far better than he would have expected. 

 _He was back on the ice. Elenwe and Turgon were walking in front of him with Idril between them, the very picture of a family. He heard the same ominous crack and then the ice spilt open under the small family. He ran forward to rescue the floundering elves. Turgon had his daughter under his arm and managed to claw his way onto the ice and safety. Finrod lunged forward as Elenwe started to sink under the surface, dragged down by her waterlogged garments. No, it was not Elenwe but Amarie whose eyes pleaded with him as she sank into the inky depths._  

“Amarie! No!” Finrod started awake. Amarie stirred sleepily in his embrace. 

“Findarato?” she yawned. They must have dozed off, lulled by the warmth of the room. “What ails you?” 

“N-nothing but a bad dream…” 

“What dream could have caused you such a fright?” 

“I dreamt I lost you…” 

“I am here, aren’t I?” Amarie soothed and leaned in to plant a kiss on Finrod’s lips. Finrod gingerly wrapped his arms around her. They had been sitting there too long and his legs felt numb. To his alarm, he noticed that first watery rays of the winter sun was lighting up the sky. They had spent the entire night in his room. Finrod scrambled to his feet, ignoring the pins and needles in them. He helped Amarie to her feet. She was blushing. It was considered scandalous for a Vanya maiden to spend time unchaperoned with a ner who was not close kin. To spend an entire night in the arms of a ner was unheard of, even if they were betrothed. 

“I’m sorry…” Finrod blurted. For a heartbeat, both elves dared not meet each other’s eyes, embarrassed by their unwitting flouting of proper Vanyarin etiquette. Snowdrop wagged her tail from the basket where she was curled up with her puppies and gave a bark to snap them out of their awkward silence. 

“Come, it must be time for breakfast…” Finrod urged. 

“Yes, it would not be polite to make Mornel wait…” Amarie agreed with a smile.

* * *

The shy looks the couple gave each other over breakfast did not go unnoticed. Mornel hid a smile as she passed Helwien the milk. Olorin was a guest at the table and he was entertaining Tatie and Helwien with a funny tale about the misadventures with one of Aule’s Maia. 

“So did he really try to make a dwarf like his master did?” Tatie asked. 

“Curumo made a dwarf out of steel but it had no life, unlike the dwarves Lord Aule created. It was the size of a very plump elfling and lacked any hair. They had to wind him up so that he would walk about. He begged Lady Yavanna to give his creation life and she agreed, on the condition it walked over to her pastures without his aid.” 

“Did it?” Finrod asked. His interest was piqued. 

“No, Curumo wound it up and it walked straight into the creek outside Aule’s Mansion. I think it is still rusting on the creek bed,” Olorin added with a grin. “I trust Lord Aule’s actual creations were a lot more robust than my colleague’s creation?” 

“Aye,” Finrod smiled broadly. He had dealings with the dwarves back in his first life. “They are a hardy lot, though stubborn to a fault. For the most part, they are loyal and steadfast in their friendship. It will be an ill thing if our peoples were to become enemies in these Dark Days on the Hither Shores." 

“Well said, Finrod,” Olorin applauded. “But I hear from Lord Manwe they were a testy lot.” 

“They could be brash and grumpy, but those are small flaws. Their temper is nowhere near as bad as Caranthir’s…” Finrod added. 

“Who is Caranthir?” Helwien asked. 

“Oh, I meant Carnistir. We all took on Sindarin names in Beleriand after Thingol banned Quenya,” Finrod explained. “The Noldor still speak Quenya in Nargothrond and possibly Gondolin. The Feanorions were never fond of Thingol so I think they speak Quenya at home. Still, Sindarin was needed to communicate with the dwarves, Sindar, and Nandor. We had to pick it up really quick for the sake of trade. Caranthir picked up some of the Dwarves’ tongue too.” 

“Well, I really must return to my master. I expect Thorondor to pick me up about noon,” Olorin grinned and patted Finrod on the shoulder, giving both him and Amarie a wink. “Sure you do not wish to send word to your parents? I might be able make a detour to Tirion.” 

Amarie did have a letter for her family in Valmar. Finrod wished to send word to his parents in Tirion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finrod is slowly healing. Does the reconciliation between Amarie and Finrod sound too fast? Too anticlimactic?


	12. Songs of Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finrod still has issues regarding his defeat by Sauron. His attempt to use his musical talent to help backfires when he suffers a flashback.

Snowdrop’s puppies grew stronger as winter wore on. Their eyes opened and they started taking in the world about them. Their mother also rallied and was soon able to leave Finrod’s room for short spells to get away from her raucous brood. Finrod soldiered on with his annals of the First Age in Beleriand. Amarie continued to feed the puppies even as the frequency of the feeds decreased. In addition, she took on the task of bringing Finrod his meals when he was caught up in his work. She provided a sympathetic ear as Mornel had done for him in Lorien when the memories of his first life became too much. His little cousin had far too much she needed to see to as Formenos’ lady. There were endless plans to be made, letters to be written, and council meetings to attend. Dinners were occasions to meet guild leaders, advisors, and visitors. 

“They were burnt alive… I felt it, here,” Finrod murmured as he rested a hand on his brow. Amarie nodded. He had just finished recording the terrible battle in which he had lost his brothers. “They are still in Mandos…” 

“I trust in Eru Iluvatar’s mercy and that they will one day be restored to us…” Amarie reassured her beloved. The silver ring gleamed on her finger where she stroked his hand. On Finrod’s finger was a plain iron band, a replica of that which Amarie had given him when they first pledged their troth so long ago. When Mornel had learnt that her cousin and friend were back together, she insisted on having a betrothal ring forged for her cousin to replace the one lost in Beleriand. Amarie also picked up a smattering of Sindarin from her conversations with Finrod. 

It was a healing process, forcing him to relive and confront his fears before talking them through with Amarie if they became too much. Snowdrop would crawl into his bed if the nightmares came and he no longer protested her presence there. The wolfhound no longer reminded him of the werewolves. 

“Will you sing for the Yule Fest, Findarato?” Amarie asked. Finrod froze. He had often sung at fests in Tirion and Beleriand. However, after his rebirth, he had yet to sing or lay hands on a harp. 

“A-Alas, I fear I am not ready…” Finrod admitted. “I have not sung or strummed a harp since…” he paused. He could not tell Amarie the horrors he experienced during his captivity. “I fear I no longer have the heart or strength to sing or play as I once did.” 

“It’s a real pity,” Amarie caught the hesitance in his voice but did not press him further. The Findarato she knew from before the Darkening enjoyed music and always had a hand harp with him. Of all the Finwians in those days of peace, it was claimed his skill and love of the harp was only second to Makalaure Feanarion. Not to sing or play was unlike him, but she had to be patient with him. Mornel was an excellent musician. Serelinde and Arafinwe had taught her well enough. It was unfortunate many elders in Tirion’s Academy of Music still recalled the genius that was her brother and deemed her skills a pale shadow of his. 

It had been several cycles of the sun since Formenos had been rebuilt. Arafinwe had recommended his niece to the Academy of Music in a misguided attempt to keep her in Tirion more often at his mother’s urging. Mornel had sung before the selection panel to the accompaniment of her harp. Amarie was there as the selections were held in the courtyard and open to the citizenry. 

“Satisfactory, but nowhere close to Makalaure in skill…” the panel announced after conferring for a few minutes. The colour had fled from Mornel’s pale face at those words. Lady Indis was a trustee of the Academy and that was probably why a letter of acceptance was sent to Mornel at the palace. Mornel declined to further her music studies at Tirion’s Academy. Perhaps there was a tinge of her father’s pride in her. There was no way she was joining the Academy just because her uncle was the king and his mother on the board of trustees. 

It was probably for the best. Mornel’s music was not the solemn hymns to the Valar or the sweeping epics favoured by the Academy. Prior to the Darkening, her brother had even resigned his post at the Academy in protest of the increasing Vanyarization of the curriculum. Mornel’s music was more spontaneous, speaking of the wind and waves like Telerin ballads. Some claimed her music had a healing quality to it. 

In a way, Mornel had her ghosts too – her absent father and brothers. There were still the shut-away rooms in Formenos, waiting for their return. Helwien and Nerdanel had both thrown themselves into their respective crafts. Whispers from distant Alqualonde claimed that Serelinde was seen in close company with Prince Earlindo, far closer than proper for a married nis. Amarie did not think she was capable of moving on thus should she be wed to Findarato and he were to leave her behind. 

Nothing more was spoken of Finrod singing.

* * *

On the day of the Yule Fest, the peace of Formenos was rudely shattered. Finrod and Amarie were playing with Snowdrop’s puppies in his room when a terrible boom rattled the shingles and shook the walls. The puppies had started to leave their basket to explore their surroundings. They gave fearful yips and clambered for the safety of their basket or Amarie’s skirts. Finrod held an alarmed Amarie close. There was the distinct smell of burning in the air and shouts coming from below. 

“We better go see,” Finrod said. Something bad had definitely occurred. Amarie nodded. “I’m coming with you.” Snowdrop gently nudged the last of her puppies into the basket where they would be safe before following the two elves downstairs to the courtyard. 

The burning smell became more intense as they stepped out into the courtyard. An elaborate stage had been set up there in preparation for the Yule Fest. It was traditional for plays to be held during the Yule Fest in Tirion in guildhalls, academies, and noble houses. The guilds and academies would vie for the honour of performing before the royal family. The honour more often than not fell to the Academy of Music or the Theatre Guild. It would seem that the tradition had endured in Formenos. Lacking a theatre or college of music, the chosen troop of performers this year was a mix of blacksmiths, carpenters, and jewellers. Last year, the honour of the play had gone to an Avarin troop who impressed the audience with their expressive interpretation of the Awakening with minimal props. 

The play this year called for complicated sets and ambitious props. It was touted as an original play, not a retelling of an existing history. One of the highlights this year was to be a machine which would shower the audience with small trinkets at the finale. Something had gone horrifically wrong after a successful trial run the previous day. The stage was aflame and elves were lying moaning on the ground. Uninjured elves were desperately trying to quench the fire before it spread to the surrounding structures. Acrid smoke filled Finrod’s nostrils, making him choke. Amarie coughed beside him. Elves from all over the keep were hastening to help where they could. 

Mornel gave orders for more buckets of water and stretchers to be brought for the injured. A few elves had been seriously burnt by the steam which powered the machine or wounded by the flying shrapnel caused by the explosion. Helwien and several nissi were pouring cold water on some of the prone elves to ease the pain of their burns. One luckless elf had his arm sliced off at the elbow by a piece of razor-sharp metal and Tatie was tying a tourniquet on it before he bled out. 

“Mornel, you are hurt!” Amarie exclaimed. A streak of blood trickled down Mornel’s cheek. 

“Tis only a flesh wound,” Mornel shrugged it off and wiped blood from her brow. Finrod noted a spreading crimson patch on her sleeve. 

“No, cousin, you are injured too. Rest now…” Finrod gently took Mornel’s uninjured arm, noticing how she was swaying slightly. Mornel had been in the courtyard when the explosion occurred. She probably had a concussion from the blow to her head. A piece of shrapnel had gone clean between the bones of her forearm, severing a major vessel in the process. No one else had noticed Mornel was leaving splatters of blood in her wake as she directed the rescuers. 

“No… I must make sure the…” Mornel murmured as the blood loss and concussion finally caught up to her. She blacked out. Finrod caught her before she hit the ground.

* * *

Mornel awoke in the healing ward with Helwien by her bedside. The wounded elves were moaning in agony where they lay in their cots. It was a mercy no one had been killed or died from their wounds yet. Finrod and Amarie were going from cot to cot as they assisted the healers. 

“You were out for two days. The Yule festivities were cancelled… Why has there been no aid from the Maiar?” Finrod said as he sponged the fevered brow of a young patient with extensive burns. Back in the days before the Darkening, life-threatening injuries were rare as they were often dealt with by Irmo’s or Este’s Maiar. It would seem that such Maiar hung around unseen in the wilds and Elven cities, appearing to offer aid when the occasion arose. Infected wounds were unheard of. Even broken skulls and necks were almost instantly healed, before the fea had a chance to part with the hroa. Findekano had earned himself the title of “the Valiant” thanks to a foolhardy dare plunging off a cliff to retrieve his baby sister’s doll with only a crude vine rope about his ankles. The rope snapped and a Maia directed a Great Eagle to rescue him from becoming the first ever Aman-born elf to report to Mandos. On hindsight, they should have called him a fool. 

“Things have changed since the Darkening. We have to move all gravely wounded elves to Lorien for healing if our healers cannot save them,” Helwien explained sadly. The air was filled with the sweet scent of athelas but the healers’ supplies were already low. The injured elves fretted from the pain of their wounds. 

“Then do it,” Mornel stated as she sat up. “Or send word to Lorien for their aid…” 

“We can’t. There is a blizzard outside from the Pelori. We sent off a bird yesterday before the storm but goodness knows if it made it,” Tatie announced as she shook snow off her cloak. She had gone out to check the weather conditions to see if they could send the most seriously wounded to Lorien. 

“Easy on the poppy…” Mornel warned. Any miscalculation of the strong poppy tincture and liquor used in such conditions to ease the suffering of the burn patients could easily send them to Mandos’ door. One elf had been badly burnt in the face and had his eyes scabbed shut. Another was nursing an arm which ended at the elbow. Those two were definitely going to Lorien if they wished to regain their sight and limb. One burn patient’s entire back was a raw weeping wound. He screamed when the healers tried to clean it.  

“Helwien, pass me my harp…” Mornel called out. There was one way to ease the suffering of her people. She had learned some Songs of Healing under Serelinde’s tutelage. Helwien nodded and hurried off to fetch the harp from Mornel’s room. 

“But your arm…” Amarie protested. “You will tear the stitches.” 

“They may yet hold. Even if they don’t, it will be a small price...” Mornel smiled grimly. Helwien returned with the hand harp and passed it to her. Mornel tentatively strummed a chord and winced as pain shot through her arm. There was no way she could play with her injury.  

“No, allow me,” Finrod insisted. He kissed Mornel on the brow as she protested and took the instrument from her. He sat down in the chair Helwien had vacated and started playing. A calming melody was coaxed from the harp strings by Finrod’s skilled fingers. The wounded quieted their moans. 

Finrod closed his eyes, losing himself in the melody. He sang of the Trees and the Light that was lost. He sang of the white city of Tirion and the pearly sands of Alqualonde. His audience were spellbound by his music. No one noticed when the melody twisted. The joy and light faded. Even the lit braziers seemed to die. Ice seemed to form at the windows. Finrod was being carried away by the music’s power. _Nothing could remain as it was._ He was no longer the naïve prince who had followed his uncles from Tirion. The elves whimpered with unease as the music darkened. Snowdrop whimpered and nudged Mornel with her nose. 

“Finrod, snap out of it,” Mornel finally noted the change in the song. Finrod’s eyes were closed, his brow deeply furrowed as if in distress. Yet he still played.   

“Cousin, awake!” The song had taken on an almost ominous note. Amarie was weeping, her soft sensibilities affected by the melancholic tune.  

Her cousin was too lost in the music’s soul to hear her words. Mornel knew she had to guide him out of it. When Finrod sang of the darkness of night, she sang of the stars and Varda’s ribbons of light. She sang of the kindness of her uncle Ara and the waves washing on pearly shores. She sang of the last flower and fruit of the Trees, the soft moonbeams on the Pelori’s snowy peaks and the sunbeams dancing on the sea. Finrod’s voice faltered but his fingers continued plucking on the strings. Mornel continued singing. She sang of the flowers which bloomed in the hidden forest glades and dancing on the lakeside by firelight. 

The mood lightened and the patients drifted off into restful visions filled with light and hope. Only Finrod remained entrapped by the remnants of the shadow coiled about his fea, Mornel could not reach him but Amarie could. Amarie sang timidly at first, but steadily grew in both confidence and strength. She sang softly of love as she slid her arms around Finrod from behind in a loving embrace, her golden hair mingling with his. She sang of the promises of a family of their own and a villa among orange trees. Tears ran down Finrod’s cheeks as he ceased playing. He allowed Amarie to take the harp from him. The spell was broken. 

“What was that about?” Helwien demanded. 

“A dark echo of his first life which needs purging…” Olorin interjected from where he stood by the door. No one had noticed his entrance. “The Lord and Lady of Lorien received a missive from here – I see you require the aid of my colleagues…” Immediately, white-clad Maiar were in the spacious ward, ready to treat the most seriously wounded. The blinded and maimed would need to go to Lorien for further healing once the roads were open. 

“M-master Olorin,” Finrod gasped in exhaustion. The struggle with the music had taken much out of him. “Will I ever be free of Sauron’s shadow?” 

“My prince, I would suggest you seek the advice of a master in the Songs of Power. Your little cousin here has some talent but little experience in their use. May we suggest Lady Serelinde and your uncle Earlindo?” Olorin nodded sagely. It was a pity Aule’s most skilled Maia had been seduced by Moringotto. “Moreover, having returned from Mandos himself, Prince Earlindo should be able to aid you in these early days.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was lucky Mornel and Amarie managed to pull Finrod out of his flashback. Sauron’s darkness has a long reach.


	13. Onwards to Alqualonde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finrod undertakes a journey to Alqualonde, so does Mornel. However, she needs to make a stop at Tirion to call on the Noldoran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As spring approaches, Mornel and her cousin make plans to visit Alqualonde. Mornel has to make a detour to Tirion. Olorin has a special mode of transport for Finrod and his beloved.

After most of the patients were treated by the Maiar, there was an impromptu celebratory meal at Formenos. The customary sticky Yule pudding and spiced possets were served in the keep's healing wards. Despite being confined to her bed, Mornel gave instructions that the customary Yule gifts of fruit and nut loaves were to be distributed to the servant elves and the Avari tribes who had arrived in Formenos for the Yule Fest. It was important to keep relations cordial with the Avari clans although Tatie was more in favour of sending them out with only apologies about the cancelled festivities. 

Olorin spent much time in private discussion with Finrod about the difficulties he had experienced since his return and provided guidance and advice where needed. As the weather cleared and spring crept near, plans were made for three of the patients to travel to Lorien for further healing. In Lorien, restoring sight and limbs were easy feats for the Valar. In addition to the patient who had lost his hand and the one who was blinded, there was an apprentice who had shown periods of mental confusion despite an apparent recovery early on. Family and friends would accompany the patients and healer Maiar. 

It was a tedious task to prepare the carts for the journey. Victuals had to be provided for the travellers as they would have little time for hunting along the way. Mornel gave instructions for Tatie and the master blacksmith to govern the city in her absence at council, citing a desire to visit her amme in Alqualonde. Lady Eldalote had sent word that she would be returning to oversee the sowing of the fields and preside over the spring prayers to the Valie Vana and Yavanna. The city would be in good hands. 

As for Finrod, a journey of another kind awaited. The road through the Calacirya took them too near Tirion and it would never do for Finrod to be mobbed by well-meaning citizens if they were to ride there. Master Olorin called down one of the Great Eagles from the sky to take them to Alqualonde. Amarie would travel with Finrod. Mornel and Helwien would ride to Tirion, where Mornel would call on her uncle. Helwien would remain in Tirion while Mornel continued onwards to Alqualonde. Of course, this would mean she would arrive in Alqualonde a week or two after Finrod. 

"I hope you packed light," the Maia jested as he patted the broad back of an eagle. 

"W-we're going to ride on Lord Manwe's Eagles?" Amarie gasped in awe. Olorin nodded. 

"Aye, and with Thorondor's blessing too. The Eagles choose who they would carry." 

It was an exhilarating ride through the crisp air high above the city of Formenos and through the mountain passes. Finrod laughed merrily as he rode on the eagle with Amarie holding onto him from behind, soaring above the clouds and wheeling between the mountain peaks. The Eagle was a strong flyer and an adventurous one. He would duck and weave through the passes and river gorges, offering the elves a bird's eye view of Aman's beauty. They passed over the golden city of Valmar, flying low enough to wave to Ingwion and his wife as they prepared to attend their morning prayers on the terrace. They passed the great bell tower close enough for Finrod to reach out and strike the bell. His granduncle Ingwe would probably be wondering why the morning bell to prayer was slightly off. 

Near Tirion, they alit on a lonely crag for a rest. In addition to the couple's saddlebags, the eagle was also carrying in his talons a hamper packed by Formenos' kitchens. The hamper contained sandwiches and cider. There was even a very rare venison steak for the eagle. They had a lovely view of the shining white city below as they ate. After their picnic lunch, they continued onwards. Finally, they saw the sun-speckled sea and the pearly sands. Finrod sobered up considerably. Somewhere beyond that sea his little sister dwelt under the shadow of Morgoth. 

The king and queen of the Swan Haven were taking their afternoon tea on the terrace when a great shadow passed overhead. Two saddlebags landed beside them with a thump. The eagle alit on the terrace and allowed his passengers to disembark. 

"Grandfather, grandmother…" Finrod choked as he embraced his grandparents in turn. 

"Findarato, welcome home," Olwe smiled and thumped his grandson on the shoulder. Queen Falamiril stopped Amarie from curtseying and offered her some lemon tea.

* * *

It was always faster travelling without an entourage to slow her down. Mornel preferred the company of close friends during her travels. Grandmother Indis had been scandalized at first but she had grown used to the younger nis' decision. Mornel was a grown elf and no stranger to camping out under the stars.  _Had not Irisse ventured out into the woods alone as often as in the company of her Feanarion cousins?_  Arafinwe reasoned.  _What harm could come to her within Aman's boundaries?_  They brought along rations of bread and venison jerky. Mornel had brought along her harp so that they might enjoy some music in the night.

 _Princess, why do you insist we go to the White City?_  Fearocco nickered.  _It is not as though we are welcome…_  Fearocco hated Tirion. He had been difficult during the journey, nipping at the tail of Helwien's gelding or kicking in front of her so that both nis and steed were choking on the dust of the trail. Mornel had found it necessary to use her riding crop to discipline her wayward horse. 

"Oh, the stable-hands might be friendlier if you stopped trying to kick them," Mornel replied as she poked at the campfire. Helwien had gone off to wash at a nearby stream. Aunt Anaire had warmed up to her a little, as did many of the other nobles. However, after all these centuries, there were still stubborn pockets of resistance in Tirion. Some felt as a nis, Mornel had no business running a city like Formenos. Others felt threatened by the northern city whose star was fast rising. Some nobles suggested Mornel pay annual tribute and taxes to Tirion but Ara declined the proposal. They were family after all. They would have preferred it if she were to remain a ward of her uncle's until she was wedded off – a proper noble lady with only dances and embroidery on her mind. That was never Mornel.

 _Remember that Lord Windbag?_   Fearocco snorted. Mornel nodded with a chuckle. That noble was a close ally of Lady Indis', a Noldo with some Vanyarin blood in him. After one too many drinks at the festival, he had insulted the memory of Mornel's father and brothers in the Great Square. Fearocco had avenged his mistress by dealing out one of his infamous kicks, sending the hapless elf into the fountain. That sobered him up. 

"Fearocco, I have to visit Uncle Ara and tell him about how his son is faring. We go there every year. Please be on your best behaviour. We will only be there for a few days, no more than a week. Please, Fearocco," Mornel pleaded. The great horse tossed his head, which Mornel hoped meant a yes. A rustle of leaves announced Helwien's return and the nissi settled down for dinner. 

* * *

They reached Tirion the following afternoon. Princess Mornel's unannounced springtime visits to Tirion were always anticipated with a mix of curiosity and dread. The guards would announce her arrival to uncle as soon as they spotted Fearocco trotting up to the city gates. News would spread and elves would peer from their windows and doors as she led her steed in the direction of the palace. She had promised Lady Indis not to gallop through Tirion's streets after a high-spirited Fearocco wreaked havoc in the marketplace once, ruining a dozen produce stalls. Many of the city inhabitants had since learnt that Fearocco was a beast to be given a wide berth whenever possible. Even the broad avenues of the city seemed too small to contain a steed like Fearocco. Helwien parted ways with her at junction of the craftsmen's sector. At the palace, Mornel would be given her usual room and an hour or so to freshen up before meeting with her uncle. 

This time, she was surprised to arrive at the palace gates and find her uncle Ara and his queen waiting there.  _Of course, they would want to hear about Finrod from her as soon as possible._  Grandmother Indis was in her parlour waiting for Mornel to pay her respects as befitted a dowager queen. The trio adjourned to Indis' parlour as soon as Mornel had Fearocco stabled and watered. Indis was so eager to hear news of her grandson she did not quibble over the dust of the journey Mornel was tracking into her parlour. Lady Anaire was there too and she made a pointed reminder to Mornel to take a bath as soon as the discussion was concluded. 

"Mornel, child. Please tell us how Findarato fares…" Indis begged as she motioned for a servant to bring refreshments. Mornel gratefully partook of a tall glass of lemonade before continuing. 

Although she was weary from her travel, Mornel described truthfully her cousin's progress over the winter to gasps and exclamations from her elders. Indis was troubled to hear that Amarie and Finrod went about unchaperoned in Formenos.  _But they would be wedded soon, right?_  Amarie's flight from Valmar had already ruffled some feathers among the more conservative Vanyar elves. The incident with the flashback during the Songs of Power was alarming to Finrod's parents. Music had been Finrod's passion back in the Years of the Trees.  _But he was going to be healed with Earlindo's help, right? Even Olorin had advised Finrod undertake the trip to Alqualonde for healing._  

It was late into the night when Indis finally rang for dinner to be served in the parlour. They would dine informally there. Mornel had also brought some of the scrolls Finrod had written about the Exiles over the sea for the palace archives at her cousin's request. They were not yet complete but Finrod felt the deeds of his kin should be recorded lest they be lost to memory. She would hand those precious scrolls over to Master Rumil in the morning. 

Over dinner, she had been surprised when Arafinwe tried awkwardly to converse in Sindarin, much to the disapproval of his mother and law-sister. Earwen tried to join in but she kept lapsing into the similar Telerin dialect. They spoke about the harvest and trade with Formenos. Lady Eldalote would be meeting with the king before making the journey up north to Formenos for the planting season. There was talk of Ingwe's twin granddaughters and how they had chosen to dedicate their lives in Lady Este's service, leaving scores of disappointed nobles in their wake. Lady Indis once more attempted to broach the topic of marriage to Mornel but Mornel declined to meet with the noble she had in mind. 

The following morning was spent in discussion with Master Rumil and Uncle Ara over the linguistic peculiarities of Sindarin. "I suppose he might have simply Sindarized his name," Master Rumil mused as he considered the name Prince Findarato had taken in Beleriand. The references to Lord Aule's creations and the Second-born were of interest to the old scholar too.

* * *

As she had promised Fearocco, they left Tirion on the third morning for Alqualonde. Uncle Ara and Earwen wanted so badly to leave with her but they had royal duties to attend to in Tirion. Impromptu visits were simply not done by kings and queens. They needed to have an entourage of a dozen guards and servants, Indis insisted. It would only be proper. Letters announcing their intent must be sent to King Olwe at least two weeks in advance to allow their hosts time to prepare. Earwen murmured that they were only visiting her parents and there was no need for such fanfare. Arafinwe wanted so badly to see his son again and hoped he could get some time away from Tirion to do so. 

In the end, King Arafinwe of the Noldor wrote a brief letter detailing their intent to visit Alqualonde and handed it to Mornel. "You would be my herald to Olwe this time, wouldn't you, Mornel?" the king jested and clapped her on the shoulder. There was no faster way to send word to Alqualonde save by falcon and royal letters were never sent by a bird. The proper way of doing it was with a herald to speak on the king's behalf. Unfortunately, the current royal herald in Tirion was known to be both slow and forgetful. An invite from Arafinwe to Ingwe took a month to reach Valmar after the poor elf made an unplanned detour into the wilds. King Ingwe was not amused to receive the invitation a week before the banquet as it meant he had little time to assemble his entourage. Lady Anaire tartly observed that the young ner would do better as a poet given his head was constantly in the clouds. 

 _A princess who does not act as a princess,_ Mornel smiled. Aunt Anaire had commented to Indis about her once. Her atto had not lived as a crown prince, her amme had told her. He had chosen the forge over council. She could understand why. There were tiresome royal duties and protocols. The duties Mornel accepted as necessary to the smooth running of a city but some of the protocols were a little silly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter – Alqualonde. 
> 
> Every time Mornel rides Fearocco into Tirion, he probably causes some form of property or personal damage to the citizens. Hence the dread.


	14. Tol Eressea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel returns to Alqualonde and is warmly welcomed by the king and queen. She then makes a trip to Tol Eressea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been some time since I updated this. Here goes.

They always said one could smell the salt on the air before you glimpsed the white walls of Alqualonde. Mornel took a deep breath, feeling the slightly briny air fill her lungs. She held it for a while before exhaling. The air about the Swan Haven was invigoratingly fresh. It was warmer here than in Formenos at this time of the year. As one approached the city, one could hear the gulls and waves, broken by the occasional calls of the Lindar sailors from their boats offshore.  

A mile from the gates, Mornel dismounted and relieved Fearocco of his saddle and bridle. The horse neighed his thanks before galloping off into the cliff meadows where the other horses were grazing. She fashioned a rough backpack from the saddle and bridle and shouldering her saddlebags. She was not going to ride Fearocco into Alqualonde. After Tirion, Fearocco deserved a break. He would return to the stables when he has wearied of the cliffs and the company of his fellows. 

Strolling at a leisurely pace, Mornel entered the city of the Teleri unchallenged. She paused to buy a cup of jellied eels from a youngster. She took a mouthful and quickly choked on the unexpected spiciness before realizing the young elf was the youngest of her friend Surialdo’s sons. The elf gave a whoop and scrambled off with his little hand-cart. Mornel waved a fist half-heartedly after him to amused laughter from bystanders. Young Ciryon had grown much since her last visit to the Swan Haven and she did not recognize him as the scrawny urchin who had been hiding behind his amil’s skirts. She accepted a cup of cool water from a nis to put out the fire in her mouth. Mornel continued her journey to the palace without further mishap. 

“Mornel, it’s great to have you with us again,” King Olwe looked up from a map he had been studying when a servant showed her in. 

“Greetings, Your Majesty. My uncle the Noldoran sends his greetings,” Mornel bowed and presented Arafinwe’s letter to Olwe. The king chuckled as he read the contents of the letter. 

“We will send our reply to him by pigeon in lieu of a herald. We would hate for you to have to leave us so soon. Have you been to your amil’s?” Olwe folded the letter and put it away. Mornel shook her head with a smile. She intended to visit once she done delivering the Noldoran’s letter. 

“You best visit her before she leaves for Tol Eressea in two days’ time. She has a contract working on my son’s villa,” Olwe advised. Mornel nodded. Olwe motioned for her to take a seat on a nearby divan. 

“How is Findarato?” Mornel asked as she sat down. 

“Earlindo has taken both Findarato and his fiancée out for a sail. They should return by dinner…” Olwe replied as he rolled up the map. The servant had returned with some refreshments. This time, Mornel took a wary sip from the glass offered to her, just in case. 

“Mornel!” Queen Falmiril burst into the room and swept Mornel into a bear-hug. “We are so happy you are here! You have done so much for dear Ingoldo…” 

“It was nothing – he is my cousin after all. Amarie did most of the work…” Mornel countered. 

“You underestimate yourself, child. You have done far more for them both than you know,” Falmiril replied. She had witnessed the improvement in her grandson’s spirits since their last meeting in Lorien. There were still times when a shadow would seem to descend on him. It took a while for them to convince him to take a stroll along the rebuilt quay. The Teleri held no grudges against Findarato or his kin now. He had taken it upon himself to call on Nerdanel on learning she was living in the city and spent a leisurely afternoon at her workshop.

* * *

After a bath and meal with the king and queen in the palace, Mornel went over to Nerdanel’s workshop. Her mother was in the yard, her sleeves rolled up and working on a block of pink marble. Already the likeness of a smiling face was taking shape. 

“Amme,” Mornel called out as she stepped through the gate. Myriad statues greeted all callers to the workshop, including erotic nudes. The yard was littered with lumps of discarded marble and stone chips. Mornel had to watch where she was stepping. Housekeeping was never one of her amil’s strong points. 

“Take a seat, I’m nearly done.” Nerdanel’s chisel continued chipping away without missing a beat. Mornel sat down on a stone bench and watched as over the next twenty minutes the face came to life under her mother’s skilled hands. Finally satisfied, she put aside her tools and inspected the bust. “What do you think?” 

It was a realistic bust of a smiling Finrod. Mornel noted that her mother had even captured the slight suggestion of weariness in his eyes. Mornel had seen a small statue of Findarato back in Tirion, crafted sometime before the Darkening. This was a different Finrod Nerdanel had depicted in pink marble. 

“It looks just like him, amme,” Mornel commented. She recognized her cousin had been changed too much by his experiences to be the same carefree prince the sculptor in Tirion had depicted. 

“He has changed much indeed…” Nerdanel wiped her brow with a towel. “I fear sometimes, for your brothers… how they would have changed…” she allowed her voice to trail off. Mornel kept quiet. There was nothing she could say to allay her amil’s concerns. Pityo was still languishing in Mandos under the Doom. He had been horribly burnt and no one knew if he would suffer any after-effects on his return. 

* * *

“Mornel!” Amarie cried out a greeting when she saw a familiar face on the pier as the swan-ship sailed into the harbour. Finrod waved to his cousin as he aided his uncle in lowering the sail. A nis stood serenely at the prow. Her harp hung idle at her waist as the wind tossed her silver hair like a halo around her face. _Serelinde._ Mornel had not expected her to be part of the sailing party. 

“Mornel, catch!” the helmsman grinned impishly as he tossed a mooring rope to her. Mornel laughed as she caught it. It was a tanned Surialdo who was steering the vessel. Mornel helped moor the craft and aided Amarie in disembarking. Amarie was a little weak-kneed as she was not used to being at sea, even in such calm waters. Finrod hastened to purchase a bag of lemon drops from a nearby stall to ease his beloved’s discomfort. Serelinde greeted Mornel with a hug. Surialdo shook her hand and they exchanged news of their families. Mornel learnt that Surialdo’s eldest son was hired by Prince Earlindo as his valet and kept his villa on Tol Eressea during his absence. His wife had been hired recently as the villa’s cook. Prince Earlindo was immediately beset by a pack of admiring nissi as soon as he set foot on land. He was long of age but had yet to show any inclination of settling down. Still, he politely acceded to his fans’ request for an impromptu performance of his latest ballad.

* * *

Dinner was held on the terrace of King Olwe’s palace. It was an informal affair. Serelinde had been invited to join them. Mornel noted how her law-sister would offer the prince a choice morsel of food and how his hand would brush against hers. They reminded her too much of Finrod and Amarie. The Valar had given Serelinde and the other spouses of the Exiles who remained in Aman the choice of breaking their bond. It seemed that Serelinde and the youngest son of King Olwe were in love. It was awkward to say the least. Amarie looked horribly scandalized as only a Vanya would. Finrod urged her to walk with him along the lake awhile on noticing her discomfort. The king and queen looked on sadly. 

It was later when Mornel chanced upon the royal pair alone in the gardens that she understood why. The couple was sitting on a bench admiring the moonrise. 

“Our Lindo loved Serelinde ever since before she was wed but he would never think to ask her to break her bond with his friend Makalaure,” Olwe said quietly. His wife nodded. 

“It is heart-breaking. They had always been the best of friends before the Darkening. She does take good care of our Lindo. Such good care…”  

“Those two neri would have forgone all sleep and food working on their music back then without her,” Falmiril chuckled richly. 

“Serelinde would not betray the memory of her husband too. In some way, she still loves Makalaure. Why did that young fool have to follow his atar to their Doom?” 

Mornel crept away before the royal couple saw her. Isil sailed across the sky. The swans had gone to their nests in the reeds. Finrod played his harp in the pavilion for Amarie. Mornel decided to cut short her evening stroll and return to her chambers. She caught a glimpse of her law-sister with Prince Earlindo by the reeds. They had found a nest of swan eggs in the shelter of the reeds. Earlindo was counting the eggs while Serelinde soothed the parents with her song.    

* * *

At the prince’s invitation, Mornel had agreed to visit the villa where her amme would be working. Finrod seemed to thrive in the relaxed atmosphere of Tol Eressea. Prince Earlindo’s new villa was modest in comparison to the manors of Tirion but it dwarfed all other buildings on the island. There was another reason for her to visit the island. It was on the very edge of Aman. If one ventured to the eastern shores, one could see the sea fog which veiled Aman from the Hither Lands. That was exactly what Mornel did. 

“Hello! Do you have any news from Beleriand?” Mornel called out to the wheeling seabirds. To her annoyance, the birds ignored her. Gulls were not the brightest of birds. She shrugged. It had been worth a try. She had managed to strike up a conversation with an old albatross once in Alqualonde. She had found the poor bird with a broken wing on the beach and nursed it back to health with Surialdo’s aid. The old bird had roamed the seas far and wide but he had little news to give her. He did mention elvish settlements on distant shores much like the small settlement on Tol Eressea. He had kept to the lonely cliffs away from them, lest the inhabitants might be yearning for albatross stew. He promised to bring her news but it had been many years since they last spoke. Albatrosses did not live forever, unlike elves. 

“Whatcha doing here?” Osse sloshed up onto the shore. Mornel greeted the Maia and explained she had been hoping for news of Beleriand. 

“Have ya not enough tales of woe from there from yer cousin?” Osse croaked and a wave washed over Mornel, drenching her to the skin. “Gulls don’t go that far. The albatrosses and terns who do keep to themselves like the snobs they are. Didn’t that feather-brain Aiwendil teach you anything?” 

Mornel shook her head with a wry smile. Aiwendil had taken her to the cliffs to show her the nesting colonies but he never discussed which of the seabirds were capable of flying the distance to Beleriand. 

“Moreover, there are those enchanted isles Lord Ulmo put up. Most of the birds here go no further than those.” 

“Mornel!” Finrod’s voice called out from further up the beach. He was with Amarie and the pair were gathering shellfish from the rocks. “Is that Lord Osse?” 

Her cousin and Amarie hastened over to greet Osse. The Maia returned the greeting by drenching all three elves with a large wave. 

“Oh Manwe! I must look a mess!” Amarie exclaimed with a rare curse. She had been wearing a silk scarf and the saltwater had quite ruined it. Her proud golden tresses hung lankly down her back.   

“I apologize for him. My lord tends to get carried away at times,” Lady Uinen explained and emerged from a nearby rock pool as an annoyed Amarie wrung out her golden hair. Finrod reached up to pluck a strand of seaweed from behind her ear. He could not resist leaning in for a peck. 

“Oh, Findarato!” Amarie admonished him half-heartedly. Mornel and the Maiar laughed along with them. Lord Osse filled up Finrod’s bucket with plump oysters afterwards as an apology for ruining their garments. 

Nerdanel had begun her work on the marble columns of the villa’s veranda. A design of shells and dolphins would festoon the tops of the columns. Prince Earlindo and Serelinde spent most of their free time in the parlour composing music. The inhabitants of the island looked upon the prince as their leader and it was not uncommon for him to be called on to mediate in some disagreement. The hours between breakfast and noon where given to any visitor to call on him. Prince Earlindo would always help where he could. The betrothed pair of Finrod and Amarie spent their time strolling along the scenic shoreline in each other’s company. 

Mornel explored Tol Eressea alone or with Lady Uinen as her guide. There was a hidden cove frequented by a pod of friendly dolphins which allowed Mornel to swim with them. The elves of the island did not bother Mornel. They treated her with the same indifference they treated all outsiders. Earlindo had explained that many of the elves on Tol Eressea were descended from the Lindar who got on the island during the Great Journey but declined to set foot on the mainland. They were bit clannish but the prince’s presence was changing their opinion of outsiders. Nerdanel was pleasantly surprised when several young neri presented themselves at the villa and asked if they might be her apprentices. 

On the ferry to Tol Eressea, she had wondered aloud if had her atar sailed past Tol Eressea instead of heading north, they would have been stopped by the elves of the island. The ferryman chuckled and said they had not realised anything untoward had happened on the mainland until Tilion’s vessel sailed into their starry sky. There were only a few families on the island then and they were too far from the Trees to notice their Light. True, it turned a bit cold but they thought it was Lord Osse tossing a fit. He then launched into a tall tale about Lord Ulmo’s pet Kraken getting caught by a local ner in his net.   

News came from Alqualonde. The Noldoran had sent King Olwe a message from Tirion in reply to Olwe’s letter. The king and queen of the Noldor would be visiting in two weeks’ time. King Olwe suggested that both Finrod and Earlindo return to Alqualonde as Earwen would be so happy to see her son and little brother again. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Arafinwe would get to meet his son again in the next chapter. I am thinking of ending this story arc soon. 
> 
> I will allow Finrod some years of peace with Amarie before the War of Wrath. At this point, Tol Eressea is still a bit of a backwater.


	15. Things to Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arafinwe's entourage arrives in Alqualonde and Finrod is taken ill after an attempted scrying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finrod tries to look into events in Beleriand by scrying and gets a nasty shock. King Olwe’s palace is thrown into chaos.

They returned to Alqualonde late into the night. One of Osse’s tempests had delayed their arrival. Arafinwe had written that he would spend the Bonfire Festival in Alqualonde. Both Amarie and Mornel had taken ill from the rough crossing. Queen Falmiril fussed over them. Finrod hardly ever got seasick but he relented and allowed his grandmother to dose him with her special tea for settling queasy tummies. His uncle and Serelinde had declined to return for a few more days, after Nerdanel finished installing a statue of King Olwe in the courtyard. Now he was alone in his room.   

Finrod had first broached the idea in Formenos to Amarie one night. Pious Vanya that she was, Amarie had discouraged him from attempting it. Visions and foresight were gifts from the Vala Irmo. It was not proper for one to seek them out. Yet the Teleri and Noldor had delved into such matters, as did their sundered kin in Beleriand. In Doriath, Melian had taught both Finrod and his sister the finer points of the art. His uncle Earlindo had warned him that his fea was not yet strong enough to endure the strain of such an undertaking, even though he had improved much under his uncle’s care. 

Finrod took a deep breath and cleared his mind in preparation for what he was about to do. The water in the bowl was calm. _Artanis._ Nothing. _Nerwen._ Nothing. Finrod scrunched his brow with the effort of delving into… 

He saw Amarie crowned with orange blossoms and a veil. The great hall of his father’s palace was decked in spring flowers and silk. It was their wedding. Finrod frowned. This was not what he sought. _Galadriel. Beleriand._ He had to know the fate of his remaining kin on the Hither Shores. He had to know his sister was safe. The images trembled. 

He saw war banners trampled into the mud. He heard the clashing of steel. His atto rode into battle astride his charger, clad in shining armour. _No!_ A great lizard roared and spat fire as it stretched his ugly bat-like wings. It swooped down on… _Eru, no!_  

The bowl of water crashed to the floor as the prince fell in a dead swoon. He would lie there until dawn broke among the spilled water and shattered porcelain.

* * *

_She was walking along a pale shore. Ghostly ruins of abandoned buildings and charred skeletons of ships littered the shore. Mornel shivered. There was someone playing a harp. She followed the music. A hooded figure sat on a blackened rock playing a mournful dirge._

_“Finrod?” Mornel ventured. The figure turned to face her. His features were hidden in the shadows of the hood but the strands of hair which escaped were dark, not blond._

_There was a clatter of steel at her feet. A sword, her mind registered as she looked down. She reached down to take it in her hand._

_“Protect my atto, they will not allow me to return there…” Finrod’s voice whispered as if in her ear._

Mornel snapped awake. She was in the guestroom of King Olwe’s palace. _A sword?_ She had handled such weapons before, but only in a ceremonial capacity. The noble houses of the Noldor all had at least one sword gracing their halls, relics of a time past. The Avari preferred the spear and bow in their hunting. The strange dream had unsettled her. Perhaps it was a message from Lord Irmo. _Or was it a glimpse of things to come?_ She shivered. Dawn was a few hours away but she knew she could not possibly return to bed. Her roommate Amarie lay in blissful reverie in the bed beside hers, dreaming no doubt of her Findarato. Silently, Mornel made her way to the stables. There she found the horses unattended and mostly asleep. It was too early for even the servants to be about their chores.

 _Princess?_ Fearocco leaned over the stall door and nuzzled Mornel. Her steed was very much awake. _You are early._  

“I had a bad dream…” Mornel entered the stall. She took a brush and ran it over Fearocco’s coat. 

 _An early morning ride should fix that._ Fearocco tugged at the sleeve of Mornel’s robe with his teeth.

* * *

A ride always made things better. Soon Mornel was wandering through the wildflowers with her horse, her unease forgotten. The rising sun caught the gleam of the golden banners of the approaching riders. _Uncle Ara’s entourage had arrived._ Mornel climbed onto her horse and dug her heels into her steed’s side. Fearocco neighed and galloped off across the hills towards the city. The royal entourage would take an hour or so to cover the distance to the gates following the road. 

She found the palace in chaos. After Finrod had failed to appear at breakfast, Amarie had gone to his room and discovered him in a swoon on the floor. Healers were hastily summoned and Finrod put to bed. Queen Falmiril sat at her grandson’s bedside, stroking his brow. Amarie chafed his limbs with warm towels as urged by the healers. Athelas and other herbs were boiled over burners, filling the air with their fragrance. 

Mornel found King Olwe watching from a corner of his grandson’s bedroom. She plucked at his sleeve and informed him of Arafinwe’s impending arrival in a whisper. With a nod, the king went to receive his guests. The rules of hospitality demanded that of him. Mornel went to aid the healers in preparing poultices to lay upon her cousin’s chest. The dream of the night before returned to her. _Could it be that her cousin had received a shock to his fea as she had once done and was lingering in the twilight world on the threshold of Mandos?_   

She leant close to whisper in his ear but before she could speak, the door burst open and Arafinwe strode in with Earwen close behind. Both parents took their places on either side of the bed. Earwen was weeping openly and her husband was ashen. Mornel excused herself. The room was getting too warm and crowded, even with the windows thrown open.

* * *

“You have not eaten… Come join me,” Olwe urged when she ran into him in the corridor. Mornel nodded as her stomach growled, betraying her hunger. Olwe led her to the terrace where a half-eaten breakfast was laid out. Mornel loaded her plate with muffins and smoked herring. She rounded up the meal with a mug of thick milk laced with berry-jam. 

Olwe had sent an urgent message to Tol Eressea to summon both Earlindo and Serelinde back to the palace. He had his own suspicions on what might have triggered Finrod’s relapse. 

“Have you ever attempted scrying?” Olwe asked. 

Mornel nodded. She had tried it once in Formenos but had seen nothing. Tatie had consoled her and explained that not all elves were gifted with that skill.  Olwe chuckled softly when Mornel related her one and only attempt at scryng which ended with her tossing the water out of her window in frustration, copper bowl and all. Olwe informed Mornel that the Teleri preferred scrying with a bowl crafted from crystal, rock or ceramic, but never metal.  

“There are limits to the visions and sometimes even they are an illusion… Things which may or may not come to pass, or have already come to pass…” 

“Your Majesty, have you ever tried to look across the sea?” Mornel asked. 

“Aye. I tried to find the fate of my brother Elwe and my kinsman Nowe. I saw nothing in the scrying bowl although the effort taken from me was great. My dear Falmiril tried too but even her skill was not enough. All we had were pale images of woods and seashores. The Valar fenced Aman well, even in those days. They found the fragments of a porcelain bowl where Findarato fell…” 

“You think he might have tried to seek out a vision of his sister and the strain was too great on him,” Mornel concluded. “If only there were a way we could find out about the fate of our sundered kin on the Hither Shores…” 

“There were some seeing-stones my brother crafted in the Years of the Trees…” a sombre Arafinwe joined them. “Palantirs, I believe he called them. Well before that rift occurred. I believe the Host of Feanaro took most of them along to Beleriand. He left a few in Tirion before the exile. I used one once to contact him to ask if Atto would be joining us for Amme’s begetting party but Feanaro told me get lost in a rather discourteous way. I think it is still lying about at the bottom of the palace pond where Aikanaro threw it. I thought it odd that nowhere in my son’s journal was there any mention of the palantirs or their use… If they are still in the possession of the Exiles…” 

“There is a risk involved in using such objects of power, Ara. Even if Feanaro remembered to unload them in his madness before firing the ships, it would be folly to use so close to Moringotto’s power,” Olwe explained. “My queen attempted a scrying shortly after hearing our grandchildren had gone with the Host of Nolofinwe… She glimpsed distant flames and frozen seas. The attempt had her abed for a long time. That was on top of our losses in the Kinslaying…” 

The three elves, leaders in their own right, sat or stood in silent contemplation. It was Arafinwe who broke the silence. 

“The fault is mine. I should never have allowed Findarato or his siblings to go to Beleriand without me… If only…” 

“Uncle,” Mornel snapped harshly. “You turned back to ask the forgiveness of the Valar, which they granted. Would you have abandoned the wives and elflings who remained behind in Tirion? Would you have left the Lindar to mourn their losses, including Aunt Earwen’s brothers? If it weren’t for you, where would Tirion and Alqualonde stand? What would have become of the families of those branded Kinslayers who remained in Aman?” 

“Lady Mornel is right. The fault lies not with you. Turning back was the wisest decision open to you then,” Olwe reaffirmed. 

“But Findarato… what state would his brothers be in when they are freed from Mandos? What of Artanis and any Noldo who still…” 

“Enough of such dismal talk, Uncle. I have faith Finrod will pull through, Eru willing,” Mornel declared with an imperious sweep of her arm, accidentally hitting Olorin smack in the gut. The Maia had just materialized behind her. “Oops! Apologies, Master Olorin…” 

“W-when Lord Irmo suggested Findarato be sent here, we were not expecting him to end up unconscious…” the Maia managed the words out between gritted teeth as he bent double. Mornel and Arafinwe hastened to help him to his feet. 

“Master Olorin, what can we do for my son?” Arafinwe pleaded. 

“T-the same as I-I have advised… A song-master…” Olorin groaned. Mornel had put more force into her action than was proper. 

“From the east, hope arises…” Mornel murmured as she spotted the white sail of Prince Earlindo’s vessel as he came to aid his nephew. She had to speak to Olorin in private about her unsettling dream.

* * *

“Hm, such visions are not easily read, child. It might be from Lord Irmo, or even Eru Iluvatar – and yet it smacks of the Shadow… You heard Finrod’s voice, you say?” Olorin asked. Mornel nodded. Earlindo and Serelinde were tending to Finrod and their music had a calming effect on his much-troubled fea. The Maia and his student were strolling in the gardens alone. 

“He asked me to protect uncle and said he will not be allowed to set foot on Beleriand a second time…” Mornel scrunched her brow. 

“Aye, the Ban still applies to his kin. Lord Manwe had informed me that if ever the Ban were to be lifted, elves reborn are still prohibited from venturing out of Aman as part of Eru’s plan…” 

“Was it part of Eru’s plan the Noldor rebel against the Valar? Likewise for Finrod’s current state?” Mornel asked. Olorin only shrugged. Not all of Eru’s plans were revealed to the Valar. 

“Finrod is strong, and made even stronger from the love he shares with Amarie…” Mornel continued. “Will I have to wield a sword someday, to protect Uncle Ara where his son cannot?” 

“Perhaps, child.” 

“I feel something is happening soon… and…” Mornel jumped as a large swan came charging out of the reeds at the pair. Olorin glanced down at his feet and realized to his horror that he had stepped on a nest of eggs inconveniently left in the path. 

“Stupid swans!” Olorin growled as he and Mornel took off running with an irate swan in pursuit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finrod will definitely recover. Sorry about using Olorin for comic relief. Arafinwe still gets times of self-doubt. About that palantir incident – it must have been to Feanor the equivalent of an insurance salesman calling when he was on a big project. I have tried to explain why there was almost nil mention of palantirs or their use in the First Age although they were later mentioned as being gifted to Men of Numenor by the elves.


	16. The Bonfire Festival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bonfire Festival is celebrated in Alqualonde as Finrod recovers from his latest setback on the road to recovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After Finrod’s setback on the road to recovery, he finds himself and Mornel joined as allies by their shared vision of things to come. Mother and daughter speak of Kano and his wife.

Finrod finally awoke on the third day of his collapse. It would be another two days before he could sit up and feed himself without aid. It would be another week before he could leave his bed. During this time, his parents and Amarie hovered constantly by his bedside. It was impossible for Mornel to speak with him in private as Olorin had urged. Instead, she aided his recovery where she could – singing soothing songs of healing, assisting the healers in brewing the medicines, and bringing back amusing tales and trinkets from the docks to lighten the patient’s heart.  

The Teleri adored the eldest grandson of their king. Many gifts and wishes for his speedy recovery were sent. Surialdo sent a wind chime crafted from tiny shells which sparkled in the sunlight as they twinkled like little bells. Prayers were offered to the Valar daily at all household shrines for the prince’s good health and happiness. There were no great banquets to welcome the Noldoran. None had the heart to feast and dance. Still, the Noldoran and his queen attended to their royal duties – officiating at the opening of a small school on Tol Eressea, attending council meetings on trade between their cities, and visiting the new-built mariner’s hospital with Queen Falmiril.    

When news spread that Finrod had awoken, there was spontaneous dancing and singing in the streets, until Queen Falmiril requested that they tone down the festivities a little as her grandson’s head was still quite sore. When the kitchen heard he was able to eat something other than broth, they sent up his favourite peach tart and cream dessert which Finrod regrettably declined. His tastes had changed since Beleriand and he no longer had as bad a sweet tooth as he had as a child. Moreover, his stomach was not up to digesting such rich fare. Instead, Amarie baked him a delicate sponge cake with fresh fruits.  

“Mornel, we need to speak…” Finrod whispered one afternoon. Mornel nodded and stilled her fingers. Wearied by long hours at her son’s bedside, Earwen slept deeply.  

“Cousin, is this about the vision?” Mornel asked softly as she took the empty seat beside the bed. Finrod nodded. Mornel haltingly related the images of her dream.  

“It’s a dark vision indeed,” Finrod agreed. In return he related what he had seen in the scrying bowl. “War is coming, Mornel. And we must prepare…”  

“To Aman? Surely the Valar…”  

“Nay, not Aman. I sense our people will be forced to take up arms against Morgoth, perhaps tomorrow, or perhaps in a hundred years… We cannot be caught unawares… Do the palace guards still train?”  

Mornel related what she knew of the guards’ training in Tirion. There was a time when the Eldar wanted none to do with weapons or the arts of war. However, Lord Tulkas insisted that wrestling, sword-play, and other warrior arts continued to be practised, even if it was just for sport. Combat was a highly ritualized sport in Vanyar and Noldor society, a far cry from the brawls which sometimes broke out at Formenos or among the Nandor and Avari tribes. There was an instance where Mornel had to step in to broker peace between two rival Avari clans over a disputed stream. The combatants took to slinging stones at each other. They still quarrelled over the same stream on occasion, but now they threw over-ripe tomatoes instead of sticks and stones and it was more in the name of a summer festival.   

“The Valar would not allow elves who have passed through Mandos to set foot on the Hither Shores… If the call should come, my adar will lead but I cannot follow…”  

“If we should go forth, will we have the strength to meet Morgoth’s forces? Will the Exiles be able to aid us?”  

“Even among the elves, there is much bad blood… Yet I feel your brothers to be the most skilled in the arts of war and would prove invaluable if the Oath did not weigh so heavy upon them.”  

“What is this talk of returning to Beleriand, my son?” Earwen started. She had woken unnoticed by the cousins. “What is this mad talk?”  

“Tis nothing, amme…” Finrod coaxed but Earwen broke into tears.  

“Nay, my son… I cannot bear the thought of losing you all over again!”  

“You will not lose me, amme. I promise… Never would I set foot on the Hither Shores,” Finrod promised. He would have to discuss his visions of the war to come with his father in private. It would be precarious ground, but the Eldar could not go into battle as unprepared as they were when they first crossed the Ice. Somehow the training of the guards must be more stringent and practical rather than ceremonial. Proper arms must be readied. The changes must be made carefully to avoid alarming the populace or antagonizing the Vanyar and Teleri. He had to help his father in this aspect. Warfare was still an alien and alarming concept to the elves in Aman.  

* * *

Mornel dared not voice her fears and concerns to her friends Serelinde and Amarie for fear of alarming them needlessly. The nissi had gone for a shopping trip along the docks in preparation for the Bonfire Festival. Noticing Mornel’s distraction, her friends asked her if anything was the matter. Mornel told a white lie about feeling a little weary from the sun. Thus, the nissi took Mornel to her mother’s workshop to rest. The gate to Nerdanel’s workshop was always left open so that her many apprentices could drop by to work on their projects any time of the day or night. Nerdanel was not in but the apprentices brought a chair into the shade and a glass of cool water for Mornel. Mornel closed her eyes and declared she would be better after a short rest.    

Lady Amarie and Serelinde went off to admire some of the apprentices’ projects while their friend rested. Mornel was not too surprised when she opened her eyes to see Olorin standing beside her. She saw that the Maia was holding a bowl of water. The bowl was made of cut crystal with opalescent hues.  

“Master Olorin, I swear you can read my mind at times. Do you really think I have the skill for scrying?”  

“It’s worth a try, isn’t it?” Olorin shrugged. “I borrowed this bowl from your mother’s house. It was a gift from your father to her during their courtship.”  

“It is nice to know she still treasures it…”  

“It made a nice fruit bowl so she says... if not a solid paperweight.”  

Mornel laughed at Olorin’s dry wit. She took the bowl from him and set it on her lap. It was too bright for a proper scrying, so she understood from her instruction under Tatie. However, Olorin whisked out a piece of black cloth embroidered with silvery stars. He lowered it over Mornel’s head as she bent over the bowl. Mornel emptied her mind of all conscious thoughts. The heavy cloth draped over her muffled all sound. She felt as she was being cradled in a comforting night. Within the bowl, the water was inky black. Then before her eyes the images came. She saw fire and giant lizards with bat-like wings. She saw grim elven warriors riding under bright banners of war. She saw a white city burning and grand halls stained with blood. 

 _Things yet to come or things already come to pass, or things which will never come…_  She did not know. She allowed the images to shift freely before her eyes. A brilliant white gem, a white bird, a white ship approaching Aman’s shores… Mornel leaned forward in her eagerness to see more and spilled the water all over her skirts. The bowl fell onto the grass with a soft thud.  

“What can all this mean, Master Olorin?” Mornel asked as Olorin lifted the black cloth from her head.  

“You know, Mornel, you know far more than you think.”

* * *

The Bonfire Festival was always a time of great celebration for the citizens of Alqualonde. The younger elves would dance and sing on the beach throughout the night in celebration of life. Declarations of eternal love were often exchanged at these gatherings and proposals made. The scribes, jewellers, and seamstresses often reported an upsurge in their business in the months after the festival as wedding invites, rings, and gowns were ordered. For their elders, there was the solemn observance of the Sending of the Lights. Small lanterns woven of leaves and brushwood would be set on the waves to drift out to sea in the vague hope that their prayers and wishes would reach their sundered kin. Some said it was King Olwe who had started the tradition by setting the first lanterns on the waves back in the Years of the Trees for his sundered brothers Elmo and Elwe. Many of the older Lindar still mourned the sundering of their kin left behind across the sea.  

Nerdanel had returned to Alqualonde after installing the last of the statues for Prince Earlindo’s villa on Tol Eressea. In a private ceremony some distance from the city, mother and daughter set a lantern on waves for any Feanorion still alive on the Hither Shores. The nissi watched in silence as the two lanterns bobbed up and down on the waves. Olwe and his queen would have set their lantern off the main quay with the rest of their court and citizens.  Finrod was not well enough to leave the palace and beseeched his parents to set a lantern for his sister Artanis. A small flotilla of lights would depart from the harbour and Mornel wondered if her little lantern would join them somewhere in the open sea before Lord Osse took them into the depths of Lord Ulmo’s realm.   

Nerdanel had long recovered from the birth of her daughter and her grief at losing her husband and sons. However, many who knew her from before claimed her light was more subdued now. Mornel now saw the hint of sorrow in her mother’s face at the sight of that tiny light winking out in the distance. Mornel knew that there would be no dancing around the bonfire for Finrod and Amarie. The royal family would then troop back to the palace to spend the festival with Finrod on the terrace overlooking the city.  

“It is almost a pity – they never had a chance to know you,” her amil finally broke the silence.  

“What would Atto have thought of me?” Mornel asked quietly. She knew she was no craftswoman or smith like her parents and she was far from the perfect princess, as so many in Tirion said.  

“I think he would be very proud of you, your brothers too…”  

“Thanks, amme… I know I don’t have much talent to be proud of…”  

“I think you would have given Makalaure a bit of a challenge at the singing competitions!” Prince Earlindo called out with a laugh. He was holding a small lantern in one hand while the other was clasped about Serelinde’s hand. Mornel’s law sister blushed as if he had been caught doing something naughty. Her foot slipped on the slime-covered rocks and Earlindo’s arm deftly wound about her waist to steady her. With a smile, Nerdanel greeted the pair.  

“Did you not set a lantern at the quay, your highness?” Nerdanel enquired.  

“This is not for my niece, but for my friend Makalaure…” Earlindo explained as he lit the small candle nestled in the heart of the craftily-woven leaves and twigs. Mornel saw that the leaves were interwoven with strands of silvery hair. Her amme had hacked off a lock of her red hair and woven it into the lantern for her sons.  _Were they Serelinde’s or Earlindo’s?_  She could not tell. Both elves had their silvery hair bound up in braids wound tightly about their heads – a practical precaution against any stray sparks from the bonfires which would be littering the shore. Those tasked with tending the fires could get careless once the wine really started flowing.  

“We fear that our sundering will be long and pray that the Valar show him mercy…” Serelinde explained as she took the lantern from the prince. She walked the short distance to the water. Murmuring a prayer under her breath, she waded out until she was thigh-deep in the sea before setting down her lantern. The waves took hold of the offering and pulled it out towards open water. She returned to shore with skirts sodden.  

“The All-Father willing, he will be returned to us…” Earlindo raised his hand to brush a stray strand of hair from Serelinde’s face and tuck it behind her ear. It was a familiar action which spoke volumes of the affection between the pair.  

“Lindo, please, we are not alone…” The colour rose in Serelinde’s cheeks. Earlindo blushed. He had quite forgotten they were not alone on this lonely stretch of beach. Neither Nerdanel nor Mornel could fault the pair for the love they so clearly felt towards each other. Yet they also knew that the spectre of the absent Makalaure would prevent them from ever joining. 

“We best be going… Atto will be wondering why we are taking so long…” Earlindo said. “Shall we walk back together?”  

“Don’t mind us. Amme has something in the workshop she wants to show me. We will join you at the palace later,” Mornel replied. Nerdanel nodded although she had no project to show her daughter currently. She understood Mornel was giving the couple some privacy on their walk back.  

“Those two should be dancing about a bonfire with the other courting couples, you know…” Nerdanel murmured softly as they watched the pair head off along the shore towards the palace. The walking path to Nerdanel’s workshop hugged the top of the limestone cliffs and the pair would never know the nissi had not climbed it. “It’s a pity… It was always the three of them, attending the festival and singing… before Kano asked her to be his wife. Yet they never had much of a life together thanks to your atto’s exile…”  

Twelve long years of exile, barely months after they were wed. Kano had followed his father to Formenos, leaving his bride behind in Alqualonde. Unlike his brother Moryo, Kano had not once undertaken the long journey from Formenos to visit his wife during this time despite the many love letters exchanged. Ever the dutiful son, Kano simply could not forsake his atar. Earlindo’s company had been of great comfort to Serelinde during that time, visiting her to collaborate on their music, as they had done before her marriage. Perhaps the scandalous whispers had started even before Kano fell under the Doom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got some inspiration from the Thai Loy Kratong festival for the lanterns on the water. Preparations will be slowly made for the War and Mornel has glimpsed things to come. Thinking of ending this soon with the wedding of Finrod and Amarie. Indis will get her wish for a grand wedding for her grandson. Of course, being Vanya, she would insist they go through the entire gauntlet of Vanyarin wedding protocols and rituals.


	17. Wedding Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finrod recovers and the preparations are made for the wedding of Finrod and Amarie.

Duties in Tirion and Formenos demanded that Arafinwe and Mornel depart before Finrod was fit enough to travel. Amarie and Earwen would remain behind until Finrod could make the journey back to Tirion. Mornel travelled with Arafinwe’s entourage until they reached Tirion. There Arafinwe and Mornel conferred over the concerns Finrod had raised about the Noldor guards. It was reluctantly agreed that a troop of archers from Formenos would be sent to train the Noldor guards in Tirion for a season. In addition, it was decided that the younger warriors would be encouraged to visit Lord Tulkas’ mansion to train in the warrior arts. Arafinwe had utmost faith in the verity of his son’s vision, even more so when Mornel had reaffirmed it with her own scrying and dream. Arafinwe also promised to speak with his cousin Ingwion. However, it was unlikely the Vanyar prince could influence his father. 

“It is likely he would see it as a waste of time for his guards to be training when they should be praying or singing praises to the Valar…” Arafinwe shook his head. 

“Perhaps he could suggest it as a form of homage to the Vala Lord Tulkas?” Lord Turcaranco, the king’s captain-at-arms suggested. The ner had once been a guardsman in his younger days. He knew the matters of the barracks well. He had also held an official post as a minister responsible for the distribution of grain to the needy for a few decades. Eldalote’s sister now held that post and managed the granaries. Turcaranco found he was more suited to act as a bodyguard and protector to the Noldoran. Mornel could see from the gleam in his eye that he relished revamping the current Vanyarin-styled drills. 

Turcaranco was also law-brother to the Noldoran through his marriage, however troubled, with Princess Irime. He too had lost a son when his spouse took their child across the Ice. If Lady Nienna or her Maiar had sent him word of his child’s fate, he did not tell anyone. He had noticed the change in the training styles of the Noldor since the Darkening. Prince Nolofinwe and his children were great champions of the warrior arts. Under them, wrestling, sword-fighting, archery, and riding had soared to heights of unprecedented popularity among their people. Prince Findekano had won medals for wrestling. His sister Irisse had exceled on the archery range. The Noldoran was more scholarly by nature. 

Mornel thanked her uncle when Arafinwe motioned a serving-elf to refill her wine goblet. The trio were dining on the balcony, away from Indis’ rooms where the dowager queen was fasting in observance of some obscure prayer ritual for her grandson’s recovery and future happiness. Arafinwe was adamant that Mornel not be required to fast as she would be ravenous after their long journey from Alqualonde. They were joined by a chattering flock of city-sparrows, eager to share their gossip with Mornel. 

“The Lindar would have no part in this, not after the Kinslaying…” Mornel added as she held out a finger for a sparrow to perch on. Despite the current good relations between their people, it would be too much to ask them to risk their lives alongside the Noldor for the sake of the Exiles. Surely only a Noldo could find Aman and be able to sail across the Sundering Sea.

* * *

Indis was eager to introduce some noble elf to her step-granddaughter but Mornel was not too keen on being match-made. She agreed to meet with the lord for tea, carefully chaperoned by the dowager queen of course. She found him dull and boringly pious. He thought the latest fashions for sheer fabrics encouraged by the Crown Princess in Valmar quite scandalous. Her patience ran out when the fool referred to her atto as an abomination among the Eldar. 

“Such an elf should never have been allowed to exist…” 

Mornel icily informed the lord to leave the room before she threw the teapot at his head. The lord blanched at the grim look on her face, hastily took his leave, and fled the palace. It was at such times that no one would deny that Mornel was Feanaro’s daughter. Indis apologized but Mornel had no mood to extend her sojourn in the White City after that. Instead, she journeyed on to her grandfather’s house and tarried there for a week. Her grandmother baked meat pies and biscuits for her to take home to Formenos. They spoke of Nerdanel and their decision to sell the house in Tirion’s artisan quarter where she and her husband had raised her family. 

“A new beginning. Moving to Alqualonde was a new beginning for your amil,” Mahtan explained. Alqualonde was far from his forge and he missed his daughter. Mornel understood. She did not fault her mother for selling the house. She spent most of her time away from the city. It would be nice to have a place to stay there, away from the palace but there was little sense leaving it neglected for months on end. She could always stay with Amarie or Helwien if life in the palace got unbearable. Tirion had been Mornel’s home once, when she was an elfling. Formenos was now her home.

* * *

The months slipped by as Mornel was once more caught up in the daily matters of running Formenos, Snowdrop’s puppies had grown strong and homes were found for them among the Avari hunters. For Snowdrop, Mornel had other plans in mind. Finrod and Amarie were pleasantly surprised when Eldalote returned to Tirion with Mornel’s early wedding gift to them – a large white wolfhound. Snowdrop would provide loyal companionship to the couple for the rest of her life. 

Indis took charge of arranging the necessary rituals and ceremonial items for Finrod’s wedding. The Guild of Needleworkers was called on to craft suitable wedding garments for the happy couple. Finrod drew up plans for his villa outside the city, much to his grandmother’s dismay. Indis wanted Finrod to remain in the palace as per Eldar tradition. Finrod relented and they reached a compromise. He and his bride would remain in the palace until their villa was ready. Masons and carpenters were called on for their services. 

There were many minor disagreements between Indis and Earwen over the arrangements. Earwen thought her son would prefer a smaller, more intimate gathering instead of a big banquet. Indis thought it would be against royal Noldorin protocol. The type of flowers and the colours of the buntings were other points of conflict. Finrod did not like the overly-elaborate tunic the guild produced for his wedding and suggested something simpler and more Telerin in style, much to his Aunt Anaire’s horror. Mornel received such gossip from Tirion through letters from her law-sister, whose dyehouse supplied the coloured clothes for the royal tailors. 

Mornel received a surprise when Prince Ingwion and Lady Elsornie came to Formenos for a surprise visit incognito – something unheard of for a Vanyar noble. The wedding was nearing and Lady Elsornie was concerned that Mornel would be too busy to get a proper gown made. She also brought along a team of seamstresses. While Ingwion fished at the lake, the nissi gossiped over assorted fabrics and the designs for fashionable gowns. Ingwion landed a large trout which the kitchens grilled with herb butter for their dinner. Their daughters were still learning the healing arts in Lorien but Elsornie hoped they would be able to return and attend the wedding as a family. Mornel was glad her friends had visited, for she had been so busy she had not thought about getting a gown for the wedding.

* * *

Formal invitations and heralds were sent out to all the major towns in Eldamar to announce the impending nuptials of Prince Finrod and Lady Amarie after almost a year of frenetic preparations, endless rituals, and ceremonies. The logistics of finding suitable accommodations for the guests alone were a nightmare. Mornel received a rather battered invite after the messenger had a run-in with a flock of hungry goats on the last stretch to Formenos. There was a landslide from a week of heavy spring rains and part of the path was washed out. The elves of Formenos had to put up a temporary bridge over the chasm left behind before Mornel could even think of riding to Tirion with the wedding gifts from Formenos.     

The gifts from the citizens of Formenos were simple compared to the gifts from Alqualonde or Valmar. There was a set of chairs and a table crafted from pine. There was a silver tea set and jars of homemade Silvan berry preserves. Mornel needed a cart to transport the gifts from the well-wishers to Tirion. Finrod and Amarie had made many friends during their brief stay in Formenos. A troupe of Avari musicians volunteered to travel with her to perform at the wedding banquet. They were merry company to be with and lightened up nights around the campfires with their songs. Even Fearocco was on his best behaviour despite his dislike of Tirion. 

The party from Formenos was among the last to arrive at Tirion-on-Tuna. The fields outside the city were dotted with the camps of elves who could not find accommodation in the city or chose not to. The Avari and Nandor felt uncomfortable surrounded by walls of stone, however grand or awe-inspiring they may be. Mornel’s party set up camp beside the camps of several Avarin chieftains. Tatie had made this rare excursion to Tirion and was more than glad to take charge of the camp while Mornel rode on to the palace. As a cousin of the groom and a member of the royal family, she was expected to reside in the palace with the other honoured guests. Fearocco would also fare better in the royal stables instead of galloping about the camps with strange horses he might pick a fight with. 

It had been close to two cycles of the sun since her cousin’s return from Mandos and Mornel was pleased to find him positively glowing. He hugged her as their aunt Anaire squawked an admonishment. They were no longer elflings to show their emotions so freely. In accordance with Vanyar tradition, the bride and groom were not to meet in the month leading up to the wedding. Amarie had been sequestered in her cousin’s house across the city after Indis had caught the pair strolling in the gardens. She would be fetched from there on the wedding day. Mornel agreed to take a letter from Finrod when she went to call on Amarie. 

Mornel found Amarie being attended on by her many female cousins. Elemmire had set aside an entire floor of his house in Tirion for the bride and her bridesmaids. The nissi had turned it into a riot of colourful fabrics, ribbons, and flowers. Amarie’s hair had been brushed to a shining gold and her skin was peach-soft with the creams and milk-baths her cousins urged on her. She would make a beautiful bride. The hours flew by and the stars were up by the time Elemmire walked Mornel back to the palace. She was late for dinner but neither her aunts nor Indis scolded her for it. Instead, Indis had the kitchens send up a meal to her room and a warm bath readied.   

The Great Square and main thoroughfares were decorated with flower garlands and banners for the wedding in the week leading up to it. It was to be the biggest celebration in the city since the wedding of Prince Nolofinwe in the Years of the Trees. The Noldoran’s wedding had occurred in Alqualonde according to Lindar custom and the weddings of Princes Turukano and Angarato were lesser events as they were not sons of the Noldoran. Only the son of a king would have a wedding on such a grand scale. 

“What was my parents’ wedding like?” Mornel asked her grandfather Mahtan. Mahtan had taken lodgings at the Guildhouse with the other smiths. 

“It was grand enough an affair but I trust there were loads of disappointed noble families,” Mahtan chuckled. “There were a few unpleasant incidents but your parents enjoyed the wedding and the honeymoon which followed.” 

“Unpleasant incidents?” Mornel raised an eyebrow. She had heard how charming her atto could be in his youth. “You mean other nissi?” 

“Nay, your atto was too wrapped up with his studies under Lord Aule. Your amme was the only nis he was serious about. There was the odd incident of Lady Indis and her children getting locked in their chambers before the ceremony. Your grandfather Finwe insisted everyone waited until they were rescued before proceeding with the wedding ceremony. Your atto was not too happy. Your uncle Nolofinwe had to climb out of the window to get help. Young Arafinwe fell when he tried to follow his brother and broke his wrist. Odd how the locks all malfunctioned at once,” the master smith mused. 

“Gee, I wonder how that happened,” Mornel smiled wryly. She had also heard tales of her atto’s dislike of his stepmother and half-siblings. She hazarded a guess her atto had something to do with their plight. 

“I trust there will be no such incidents at the coming wedding,” Mahtan guffawed and clapped his grandchild on the shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that it would not be feasible for Mornel or Nerdanel to maintain another house in Tirion given that they are now based in Formenos and Alqualonde respectively, even if for sentimental reasons. There might be a replay of that wedding misadventure.


	18. Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The strain of the coming wedding gets to Finrod and he seeks out some quiet time but gets in a tight spot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Finrod be able to attend the wedding on time?

Mornel had not been present when Finrod was formally presented to the Tirion court shortly after his return from Alqualonde. There he pledged his allegiance to the Noldoran as was required of all noble neri on their coming of age or upon their return from Mandos. The effort had taken a lot out of him and he had taken to his bed for two days afterwards. Mornel could understand. Many councillors and nobles in Tirion could be tiresome. It must be difficult for her cousin who had been a king in his previous life, to bow to another, even if he it was to his own father. However, Finrod seemed content enough to set aside his titles and rank in favour of a quiet life.  

Finrod had already made several appearances at the Noldor court in the past two years, though they were often brief. He would sit on his father’s right, a sign of his status as the crown prince. His return alone was a sign of the Valar’s favour, but not all the Noldor looked on him favourably. Some questioned why Prince Nolofinwe and his children had not been allowed to return. Others were discomfited by the change in the once-cheerful Findarato. Dancing and mingling at balls now tired him. Instead, he preferred walking with his father under the trees in the royal gardens or working on a Quenya-Sindarin dictionary with Master Rumil.       

As the big day approached, the palace was a hive of endless activity. The strain of the preparations began to gnaw at Finrod’s patience and spirits. He took to finding out-of-the-way nooks in the sprawling palace to work on his dictionary without being interrupted by his parents, aunts, or grandmother. 

“Let the boy have some breathing space, my Lady…” King Olwe urged Indis. The king and Prince Earlindo had travelled to Tirion to attend the wedding, leaving Queen Falmiril to attend to the daily court matters of Alqualonde. It soon fell to Mornel to seek out her cousin when his presence was required by his parents for she knew almost every corner of the palace due to her explorations as a child. She once found Finrod in a nest of books he had crafted for himself in a corner of the archives. Then there was the roof just outside his sister’s former bedchamber. There was also the storeroom where Miriel’s loom and a dozen items of old furniture were stored. Finrod had set up a small table there to read his books on. 

At first he was annoyed by his cousin’s intrusions but he soon learnt that Mornel had no intent of forcing him to leave his hard-earned peace and quiet. She would convey whatever message she had been tasked with but leave him to decide if he would obey the summons. Sometimes she would be tasked with bringing a meal tray to him. More often than not, her intrusions were by chance, and she would continue about her task – be it retrieving some scroll from the archives or speaking with the city’s sparrows. Sometimes he was glad for the company and conversation she provided. Never once did she betray any of his hidey-holes to the others. 

In his bid to escape the smothering attentions of his elders, Finrod stumbled by chance across a small room hidden behind one of Miriel’s tapestries. It must have been abandoned for centuries. A small glass window set high up one wall allowed in both air and light. There was even a writing desk strewn with the remains of forgotten scrolls long crumbled to dust.

* * *

 

It was the eve of the wedding and Finrod was frankly quite overwhelmed by the activities. Feeling a headache coming on, he went to his room for a bit of a lie-down, so he informed his parents. Instead, he retreated to the room behind the tapestry, knowing Mornel had not stumbled onto it yet. 

It had not been Mornel’s intent to seek out her cousin. When he failed to appear at dinner, the family put it down to pre-wedding jitters, and Earwen had the kitchen send up a light repast to her son’s room, to be left outside the door lest they disturb his reverie. Indis and her son then took a stroll in the garden while Earwen showed her father and brother the aviary of Valmarin jewel-birds from which Mornel’s modest collection had grown into. The birds were a joy to behold, and docile enough to be handled. There were plans to train the birds to accompany the wedding entourage during the ceremony. The plans were shelved when the city’s ravens took up stations outside the wedding hall in eager anticipation of a jewel-bright snack. Thus Mornel was left to her own devices. 

Mornel had just emerged from the baths when she found that she had made a wrong turn. Annoyed with herself, she trotted back along the corridors. She did not notice the broom a careless servant had left lying across the darkened hallway and tripped over it. She held out her arm to steady herself, pressing against a tapestry as she did so. There was a dull click before both gravity and momentum won out, causing Mornel to fall flat on her face. Lying there on the floor, she felt a breeze on her face and spied a sliver of light where there shouldn’t be. The light was coming from behind the tapestry. There must be a hidden chamber or passage there. 

Getting back on her feet, Mornel scrambled over to the tapestry and lifted a corner up. There was a sliding panel behind it, painted to look like the stone walls. The panel was ajar and light enough to shift easily. Moreover, it had recently been oiled so as not to creak. Emboldened, Mornel pushed it open and saw that it hid a room. There was a heavy desk against the wall on which a candle was guttering, burnt down to a mere stump. Finrod was there, just stirring from his reverie. He stretched his arms and yawned languidly. 

“Mornel, so you have found me,” he smiled with bemusement. 

“What is this place?” Mornel wondered at the high ceiling and the stone walls around them. The room was narrow but tall enough not to be claustrophobic. It would still be dim enough to warrant a candle if one wished to work on letters as her cousin had been doing. 

“I found it by chance…” Finrod replied. “Is it dinnertime already?” 

“Aye, the dinner-hour has passed but Aunt Earwen had a tray sent to your room…” Mornel replied. She leaned back and noticed strange etchings cut into the walls. 

“I wonder what these say…” Kneeling, she brushed her fingertips over the grooves. It looked like the cirith runes which predated her father’s Tengwar. She sensed a dull anger emanating from the runes. They were cut at a level as if they were done by an elfling. The runes covered the lower portions of the walls end to end. 

“Let me see…” Finrod stooped down, his eyes glowing with interest. He had not noticed the runes until his cousin had pointed them out. “It looks like cirith... and some form of early Tengwar…” 

“My atto was here…” Mornel knew it deep in her marrow. She could picture the angry elfling her atto was, hidden in this room, crying his angry tears over his stepmother. She did not quite understand but the images came fast and furious. _Young Feanaro being sternly rebuked by his father for putting broken glass into his stepmother’s slippers. Her father resolutely dragging one of mother’s tapestries out of the attic and hanging it such that it hid a small room once used to store grain. He had to rig some pulleys to hang it up alone. Feanaro roundly cursing his stepmother and later stepsiblings using an Avarin spell he had picked up from the library’s restricted section, cutting their names and the spell into the wall over and over…_  

The panel was a later addition, crafted when he had started his apprenticeship under Mahtan. _The lock mechanism…_ Mornel froze as various half-remembered diagrams swirled in her mind’s eye. She turned around. Finrod had made one full circuit of the room and was at the entrance. To better view the runes, he had pushed the door panel shut. _If she recalled the plans correctly…_  

“There seems to be something here…” Finrod pressed on a raised symbol. There was a whirling noise followed by a series of clicks. With a cry Mornel ran over and tugged at the handle of the panel. It did not yield. Something had definitely caught and they were both shut in. “Strange, that never happened before,” Finrod tried the door to no avail. 

“We are locked in,” Mornel cried. She had a vivid vision of her father as a young ner, locking the door in the same manner as frantic servants searched the palace for him outside so that he need not sit for family portrait with his stepmother and her children. Once the lock was activated, there was no way the door could be opened from the outside. 

“Mornel…” Horror dawned on Finrod as he realized what had happened. “There must be a way to get out…” he pressed on the symbol again. 

“No, we need another key to unlock it. Look for anything unusual in the floor or walls… Search every inch carefully!” Mornel knew she had seen similar designs of such a locking mechanism before in Mahtan’s workshop. As an elfling, she had once been given a puzzle box. It had taken her a week to figure out the complex process to unlock it. Now they were stuck in an inside-out version of a puzzle box, _or was it outside-in?_ Hours passed as they searched for a way to unlock the panel. 

It was slow going. The candle soon burned down and went out. They were forced to continue the search by the pale pool of moonlight from the high window and their fingertips. Finrod bade an exhausted Mornel to rest when she started yawning. When she awoke from her slumber, she found her cousin dozing against the desk. She could see the grey light of dawn through the window high above them. She shook her cousin awake. It was the morning of the wedding, and they were still trapped. Finrod fretted. _If he was not there for the ritual, what would his family and beloved think?_  

An idea occurred to Mornel in a flash of inspiration. 

“Osanwe… Use osanwe, cousin. Reach out to Uncle Ara and Aunt Earwen, or even Amarie…” she suggested. If they could get help to break down the panel door, they could make it to the wedding. 

“But I have not used it since when my brothers died… I am not sure I can,” Finrod protested. “Why don’t you try?” 

“You have to try at least… Uncle Ara told me your osanwe was strongest among his children, nay, among all the grandchildren of Finwe,” Mornel coaxed. “My amme is in Alqualonde and I don’t think having Fearocco galloping about the palace hallways is a good idea,” she reasoned. Her osanwe was never strong to start with. She could reach out to her amme only with great difficulty, even if they were under the same roof. The servants assigned to wake Finrod would raise the alarm once they find the groom was not in his bedchamber. Uncle Ara would be looking for his son, and thus more open to hearing him. 

Finrod made a half-hearted protest but he sat down cross-legged on the cold stone floor. Closing his eyes, he tried to re-awaken the long-neglected parts of his mind, and reach out to his parents. He had discussed it in private with his uncle back on Tol Eressea, how he felt he had lost that gift for good. _There was no physical or mental reason why he would have lost the skill,_ his uncle reasoned. “Never let the fear control you,” Earlindo had urged. _Fear._ Finrod feared encountering the same pain he had experienced that fateful day when his little brothers burned. 

He hesitated. But he was reaching out to his father, not his brothers in the midst of battle. His atto was safe here in Aman. Mornel was still trying to press on each stone on the floor in the vain hope of activating the lock. Perhaps the years had corroded the mechanism and it no longer worked properly. He had tried to climb up to the window the night before but the wall was too smooth to find a handhold on. Moreover the window was too small to allow either of them through. _How long would it take them to die from thirst?_ He had to get them both out. With a deep breath, Finrod closed his eyes and cried out mentally. _Atto… We need help…_    

* * *

“What do you mean his bed is not slept in?” the Noldoran demanded when the servant who had been dispatched to rouse the prince returned with his report. The others at the breakfast table froze. They had all been expecting the groom-to-be to join them for the morning meal. Mornel’s absence was noted but it was not unusual for her to go on an early morning ride on her horse before returning smelling of the meadows, and sitting down for breakfast. 

“The bed is still made and his meal tray from last night is untouched,” the servant elf reported. 

“But the ceremony is this evening!” Indis cried out. “He can’t just disappear…” 

Arafinwe was about to issue an order but froze with his mouth half-open. _Atto…_ Had he been mistaken? 

“Findarato?” 

No, it was definitely his eldest son’s voice calling out to him in his mind. _We are trapped… In a room behind the tapestry…_ Using osanwe, his son described the location of the room. Without a word of explanation to his wife or mother, the Noldoran rose and strode out of the dining hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Feanor’s issues continue to haunt his siblings. There is an unlocking mechanism which can be operated from inside but it has fallen to ruin over time.


	19. Waiting for Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finrod and Mornel are trapped in a secret room and time is slipping away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can Arafinwe and the others get them out in time for the wedding?

Mornel was still feeling along the outline of the panel when she heard a thud from outside and a pained gasp from her cousin.

“Finrod?” she turned to see what was wrong. His face was as grey as ash, such that she feared he was going to be sick.

“Atto!” he cried out and banged on the panel. The sudden stab of pain had been unexpected and for a moment, caused him to panic. There was a moan from outside. To the pair’s immense relief they heard the Noldoran’s voice, muffled as it was by the walls.

“I’m alright – just tripped over a broom some fool left lying about.” It had been disconcerting when Arafinwe felt his son flinch mentally and break off the mental link with him but Finrod was now reaching out tentatively to him with his mind. Perhaps the fall had startled him too since they had been linked…

“Ingoldo!” It was Earwen’s voice now. “Where are you?” Perturbed by her husband’s sudden departure, she had dogged his heels closely until she reached the corridor where she found him sprawled in an ungraceful heap thanks to the broom. She could hear her son’s voice but there was no sign of him anywhere.

“We are trapped in a secret room behind a tapestry!” Mornel called out. She was afraid the strain of using osanwe was getting to her cousin.

“How long have you been there?” It was Indis’ alarmed voice now. She sounded agitated. _Grandchildren simply did not vanish into locked rooms. It was not right!_

“Since last night, grandmamma. We are shut in…” Mornel explained. There was a scrambling sound as the older elves tried to find the panel. Miriel’s tapestry was taken off the wall, fastidiously rolled up, and placed on a divan in a nearby room. Miriel’s beautiful tapestries were treasured by the Noldor as rare works of art since so few had survived the ravages of time since her death. Try as they might to force the door open with their bare hands, it held fast. The Noldoran ordered several palace guards to bring axes, crowbars, and other tools to force open the door. After much commotion and sweat, the door still held fast.

“Oh dear, we are late for the morning prayers…” Indis fretted. “It is not auspicious for a groom-to-be to miss the prayers. What will Findarato do without his parents’ blessings?” Mornel glanced at the pool of sunlight on the floor of their prison and realized it must be time for one of the many Vanyarin rituals Finrod needed to undertake before the wedding.

“Forgive me, amme,” Arafinwe pointed out. “Findarato could say his prayers inside and we are more than willing to give him our blessings, even if it is through a wall.” At Mornel’s suggestion, a messenger had been dispatched to the Guild of Smiths in the city where numerous blueprints of prototypes were kept in its massive, and very messy, library. Mahtan had taken her there once to show her his best student’s early attempts. There had been a prototype of a lamp which burned with a cool steady light in the dark. The flaw in it was that it first had to be placed in Laurelin’s glow for half a day to work. There had been a strange mechanism called an iron horse which pulled carts without rest but it belched out foul smoke and kept tripping over cobbles. Feanaro was not always successful as an inventor. Surely her atto would have left a copy of the plans for the locking mechanism or the door in the Guildhouse library.

“Findarato, please follow my instructions – you have to do the prayers to the Valar the best you can…” Indis’ voice instructed. The guards had abandoned their assault on the panel. It was a bit chipped and a bit dented to show for their efforts. Finrod knelt as instructed and started singing the hymns. When Indis told her grandson to thank the Valar for their numerous blessings, Mornel could tell from the sour expression on his face that he was not exactly thankful about being stuck like a trapped rat. She had to cram her fist into her mouth to keep from bursting into laughter. Indis would not appreciate such an intrusion on the solemnness of the occasion. Mornel perched on the edge of the desk. Under Finrod’s scrolls, there were faint markings and grooves cut into the wood of the desk.

For a moment, Mornel wondered if they were another Avarin curse on her benighted uncles and grandmother. The symbols were strange to look at but at the same time familiar. _Alchemy. Those brave elves who were a class of their own even among the skilled smiths of Aule’s mansion._ Such elves risked grave injury and even death by experimenting with various substances. There had been one such elf in Formenos who had created a substance which could burn, even when copiously doused with water. He had shown her his scribbles, among them the formula for the new substance as he attempted to refine it for the safer use of starting a fire using wet wood. She traced the symbols and faint Tengwar runes on the desk with her fingers. Something clicked suddenly in her mind. This was an alchemic formula for a type of alloy, which the runes suggested the secret panel was made of.

Finrod was finishing his prayers and his elders were bestowing their blessings on him by shouting through the panel to ensure he would be able to hear them. Mornel waited until the ritual was completed before she called out to her uncle.

“Uncle Ara, I have found something which might help us get out. Please fetch Grandfather Mahtan. We need him to confirm if I am right about this.” Mornel hoped she was wrong about her suspicions. They could be trapped for several more hours if it was indeed a certain mithril-steel alloy her atto had made the door of. They would need a special cutting tool, or perhaps it would be easier to knock down the adjoining wall.

“Ada, could we knock down the wall instead?” Finrod suggested. The idea had occurred to him too. There was a muffled discussion in the hall before Arafinwe replied.

“We could but we have several supporting pillars in this hall – we need to proceed carefully…”

There came the sound of running footsteps as a guardsman was ordered to seek out Master Rumil and the palace blueprints. Both Finrod and Mornel groaned and glanced nervously at the roof above. The palace was old and had been rebuilt so many times that knocking down a wall must be done with great caution lest they bring down the roof or whatever had been built above it.

* * *

Across the city in her cousin’s house, Amarie tied a silken bow on Snowdrop. Fearing she would be lonely, Finrod had sent the wolfhound to keep his bride company. She and her bridesmaids had just completed the morning prayers to invoke the Valar’s favour. There had been the usual round of teasing banter from her girl-cousins. Elemmire had been a conscientious host, tending to their every need. It was a pity he had no inclination of settling down to start his own family yet. Snowdrop sneezed as one of the younger bridesmaids held a posy for the hound’s inspection. The nis giggled and went off to make more posies for the bridal entourage.

She should be happy, yet Amarie felt strangely anxious. Her tummy felt as if she had drunk an entire flask of that fizzy concoction one of the Avari was selling outside the city. She and a cousin had tried a cupful of the brew out of curiosity. They had both come down with a fit of hiccups before the old nis peddling the drink informed them they should have sipped it very slowly - as in over the course of the seventeen-act play by the Rock Flower Clan and toss the empty bowls at the actors as a form of applause. The ways of the Avari were strange indeed. Snowdrop yawned and settled down on a rug for a nap.    

Vanyar custom dictated the bride and groom not meet before the wedding yet Amarie felt the strong urge to run over to the palace to see if Finrod was alright. She picked up a brooch from her dresser and held it against her gown. Her parents were busy in the downstairs parlour receiving congratulations and the good wishes of the various Vanyar or half-Vanyar families who have made Tirion their home. Looking out of the window, she was amused to see Elemmire blushing and stuttering like a callow youth as he tried to speak with a dark-haired nis with a mischievous smile on her face. 

* * *

Master Mahtan and several skilled metal-smiths answered their king’s summons and came to the palace. After careful inspection and discussion, the metal-smiths declared that it was possible to cut through the mithril-alloy door using the latest metalworking tools in their workshops. It would be hot, messy work – _would their majesties wish to remove the carpets and tapestries first?_ They needed a portable fuel source and they could only work for thirty minutes at a time before letting their overheated tools rest. It would take at least five hours to cut a hole big enough for the trapped elves to climb through.

Aunts Anaire and Findis assisted Master Rumil in combing the archives for the blueprints pertaining to this particular part of the palace if the builders had left any. The early Noldor and Vanyar kept scant records of the building of Tirion as Rumil was still trying to convince his peers of the benefits of the written word then. Perhaps knocking down a wall would be faster if they could ensure everyone’s safety. Indis threw up her hands and declared she was going to seek help from one of the many Maiar who had come to Tirion as representatives of the Valar, even if it were that Aiwendil with his muddy boots and grimy clothes. Perhaps his birds could drop some food and drink down to her poor grandchildren. 

The air was filled with the smell of scorched metal as the smiths got to work. The rest of the royal family retreated from the heat and smoke which soon filled the hallway despite Indis’ throwing open the windows to air the place. There was nothing they and the trapped elves could do but wait. Mornel and Finrod moved away from the door as it started to glow ominously. It was not the most auspicious of starts to Finrod’s wedding day.

“Do you still remember your brother Feanaro’s wedding day?” Mahtan asked the Noldoran as he oversaw the distribution of skins of cool water to the workers during one of their breaks. Aiwendil had been located in the palace garden and he agreed to have some city ravens drop some water skins to Mornel and Finrod. Unfortunately, the filled water skins proved too large to fit through the window. The birds settled for dropping juicy berries and oranges down to the waiting elves so that they could quench their thirst.

“How could I forget? I fell out of the window and landed in a rose bush. Nolo was so panicked when I started howling… Amme heard me and got worried…” Arafinwe mused and shook his head at the memory. 

“Today’s predicament is almost familiar, isn’t it?” Mahtan guffawed. 

“I believe we had it easier then. Atto only needed a locksmith, not a half-dozen smiths.”

As the hours passed, the metal-smiths made slow but steady progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feanor probably wished his master had not retained the plans of his failed inventions and filed them in the Guildhouse. 
> 
> Yes, they have welder elves in Aman. Why are the Maiar not helping? Let’s see – the last time the Valar helped a royal elf in Tirion with his problems, they got a super-unhappy Feanor and the number one dysfunctional household in Aman. So they are washing their hands of the royal family a bit.


	20. The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time for wedding nears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finrod and Mornel are finally freed but Finrod is running out of time. Will he make it to the wedding?

Finrod tried to hide it but he was growing more anxious as the pool of sunlight moved across the floor with the lengthening of the day. The smiths cut through the mithril-steel door inch by excruciating inch. Their task was rendered harder when they discovered that Feanaro had added the random adamanite-stone into the mix, a rare and notoriously hard substance found only in the deep mines near Mandos' Halls. After failing to craft anything out of the raw lumps of adamanite, the Noldor had abandoned the mines in favour for more malleable ores and gems elsewhere.

Finrod had not wished to alarm his bride unduly. He begged his father not to tell her of his current plight and the Noldoran agreed. The procession to Elemmire's house to fetch the bride would leave as planned before sunset. Aunt Anaire would oversee that part of the wedding in her law-brother's stead. Arafinwe did not wish to leave his son just yet. However, when the first guests started arriving, he would be obliged to greet them in the grand reception hall.

Mornel closed her eyes and tried to catch some sleep. Watching Finrod pace as the time for the wedding neared was making her dizzy. The room was unbearably warm from the heat of the cutting tools. She must have dozed off into reverie for when Finrod shook her awake, the sun was already setting. The smiths had almost completed their cutting. The trapped elves waited. The last of the sunlight vanished from the window before the cut-out circle of door hit the floor with a loud clank. Someone gingerly thrust in a Feanorion lamp, carefully avoiding the edge where the metal was still glowing red-hot from the heat.

"Your Highness? You best get ready for the wedding. His Majesty has gone to inform the others of a possible delay… Careful now…" It was Mahtan.

The master smith helped the prince and his granddaughter out. Mornel noted that her cousin looked a little unsteady on his feet. Servants brought jugs of cool water for them to quench their thirst and warm towels to wash their faces with. Indis and Findis soon came to meet them with a train of servants bearing Finrod's wedding robes, jewellery, and soft shoes.

"Is there time for a bath?" Lady Indis asked a servant. The nis paused uncertainly. It was Findis who answered her mother.

"Amme, we will have to hurry and have Findarato change into his wedding robes soon, or Ara would have to explain to Amarie and the guests why we have been delayed." She would also need to check Finrod's vital signs to ensure that he was not suffering from dehydration or heat exhaustion from his imprisonment. They could not have him fainting during the ceremony.

Finrod was hastily ushered away by his grandmother and aunt. The servants scurried after them. Mornel was left alone with Master Mahtan and the smiths, who were already taking their leave. They had a wedding feast to attend after all.

"Mornel, you aren't going to the wedding like that, are you?" Mahtan shook his head as he took in the state of his grandchild. Mornel had collected several cobwebs in her hair and her robes were grimy and wrinkled.

"Of course not, grandfather… I had a lovely gown made just for the occasion," Mornel grinned before hurrying off to her own rooms to change. She was expected to sit at the high table with the other members of the royal household after all.

* * *

"The sun has long set and the moon has risen…"

"The wedding should have started by now… Nay, the rites long completed."

"Has anyone seen the prince?"

The guests were growing restless. Amarie tried to ignore the growing whispers as she waited with her train of bridesmaids. Earwen had been so kind to her, reassuring her that Finrod would arrive soon. She had even given Amarie an opal brooch to fasten a stole over her shoulders as the night in Tirion could be chilly. A wreath of silver orange blossoms held a sheer lace veil over her face and hair. Try as she might to act like the demure maiden and keep her eyes downcast, she could not help glancing up towards the entrance of the hall.

Rumours were spreading like wildfire, gaining speed with each passing minute. It had been an hour since the exchanging of vows was to be held and yet no sign of the groom. Amarie's relations were flustered with worry.  _What had happened to the groom? Was he ill? Had he run away?_  Her father boldly strode over to have a word with the Noldoran but was forestalled by the chamberlain. A member of the Vanyar delegation exclaimed aloud that it was a disgrace they be forced to wait and was swiftly hushed by Prince Ingwion. King Olwe and the Teleri delegation had not been informed of Finrod's misadventure and were just as puzzled as everyone else about the reasons for the delay.

"I hope this is not some new tradition for the Finwean princes… I recall Prince Curufinwe had his wedding delayed…" Olwe muttered.

"Did he not lock my law-brother in his room and indirectly caused that delay when Finwe had to fetch a healer?" Earlindo grinned. He had heard that tale from his sister back when she was being courted by Arafinwe.

"Nolofinwe had his wedding delayed too –the bride suddenly had second thoughts… It was an hour before their folks found her in the family orchard and talked some sense into her. I blame Lady Indis for that one. A young bride should not be greeted on the morning of her wedding with a tome on the proper behaviour of a law-daughter and wife from her soon-to-be law-mother," Olwe chuckled.

"Angarato got so utterly wasted the night before his big day. He was unable to stand even at dinner the next day. I blame my brothers for that one," Earlindo added. They had to prop Angarato between his groomsmen for the ceremony and Eldalote was not amused at all by the sorry state of her husband.

"Aye, I still wonder how they found my secret stash of very strong rum, given I shared its location only with you," Olwe smiled as his son flushed crimson.

"Turukano's wedding was delayed too, so I heard from Ingwion," Earlindo looked away and tried to deflect his atto's attention.

"Bride got cold feet?"

"No, the groom… you don't think our Findarato got cold feet, do you?"

A trumpet blast finally announced the arrival of the groom. The guests rose and craned their necks for a glimpse for the prince. Finrod was elegantly dressed in a white tunic with a modestly embroidered collar. He wore a circlet of unadorned gold as was his right as crown prince. Silver ribbons glinted in his braids. He strode across the hall to his parents and hugged them both in turn. The Noldoran and his queen were dressed in the Noldor style, in heavy brocade and jewels. The crown prince's simple Teleri-influenced garb was noted by all present. His bride was clad in the Vanyar fashion, in a modest white robe and lace veil. They made a handsome couple. The Noldoran and his queen returned to their seats at the front of the hall. It was time for the ceremony.

Amarie looked down demurely as her groom took her hand. They stood at the front of the hall as Olorin conveyed the blessings of Lord Manwe and his spouse Varda to the happy couple. The glow of the blessings upon them, the couple exchanged their vows. All eyes were upon them. Few noticed Mornel's entrance into the gallery overlooking the hall. The youngest member of the royal family had worn the grass-green gown Elsornie had designed. Her hair had been hastily brushed. Her silver circlet was perched on her head at a crooked angle. She was too late to make her way to join her uncle below. She would have to wait until the ceremony was over and the feasting started.

* * *

 

"Grandmother, Your Majesty… Apologies…" Mornel apologized as she slid into her seat at the high table. Arafinwe smiled fondly at his niece and motioned for a waiting servant to fill her goblet. Lady Earwen reached over to straighten Mornel's circlet. The invited Teleri and Vanyar royals were also seated at the high table. Finrod and Amarie were dancing. Mornel hoped her cousin had recovered enough from his earlier ordeal. He showed no signs of weariness as he and his bride twirled around the floor.

Mornel tried to restrain herself as a plate of food was placed before her. She was famished, having nothing but an orange and a few berries since the night before. As a princess, she must observe the necessary etiquette. She tucked into her meal as daintily as she could. The fish was delicious and the vegetables fresh and crisp. The soup was piquantly spiced with peppercorns and basil. She almost wanted to ask for more but she knew she could not. Princesses must never appear gluttonous. Already she must have been eating faster than was proper. Aunt Anaire was giving her warning look as she reached over for a second helping of bread from the table's bread basket. On the dance floor, Finrod seemed to be tiring and the newly-weds returned to their seats between the Noldoran and his queen. They were the centre of attention for the night.

Other couples took to the dance floor as the night wore on. Ingwion and his lady wife danced to a light Vanyarin melody. The Noldoran and his queen left the high table briefly for a stately waltz. Indis urged Prince Earlindo to ask Mornel for a dance. With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, the Telerin prince complied and asked the princess for the next dance, which was a heady Telerin reel. Mornel laughed merrily as they spun and skipped about the dance floor. She was enjoying herself immensely. The dance was full of energetic moves and flourishes. The other dancing couples tired one by one and took their leave of the floor. Soon only Mornel and Earlindo remained. When the music ended, the pair bowed to thunderous applause from the guests.

"They make a lovely couple… Has your son ever considered marriage…" Indis asked King Olwe.

"Yes, he has someone else in mind…" the king replied.

"Mornel is a princess of the House of Finwe…" Indis hinted.

"Aye, and they say one of her brothers slit my Earlindo's throat during the Kinslaying… Don't get me wrong, my lady. Mornel is a charming and kind-hearted soul, a veritable credit to her family but I do not think my people are ready to have their Prince Earlindo wed a daughter of Feanaro," Olwe pointed out. He had no desire to broker a political marriage for his son.

"Where's that child now?" Aunt Anaire asked when she realized that both Earlindo and Mornel had not returned to the high table after the music ended. Mornel had made use of her chance to leave the grand hall to join the festivities outside the palace. Prince Earlindo was eager to explore the streets of Tirion by night during the festivities and found a willing guide in Mornel. The pair found a despondent Snowdrop tied up in the hallway by some thoughtless servant with neither food nor water. Hounds were not allowed inside the grand hall, especially during such an important event. Mornel untied the hound. She took her to the kennels for some water and kibble before taking her out into the city streets. They had little to fear from the citizens of Tirion and the guests but a large hound was both welcome protection and company.

* * *

Outside the palace, the celebrations were more boisterous. Wine had flowed from the city's fountains since sunset and many elves were more than a little tipsy by now. Mornel found her law-sister engaged in a singing competition with several neri. The lyrics of the ballads they were singing were getting bawdier with each passing verse. Even Earlindo flushed red to the tips of his ears at some of the words. It was fortunate that such entertainment was held far from the palace and noble precincts. Helwien was red-cheeked from the wine and the heat of the bonfire the craftsmen had built at the crossroads of Dyehouse Alley and the Street of Gems. At Mornel's side, Snowdrop howled as if to sing along and was quickly hushed by Mornel.

Nearby, Master Mahtan refereed a wrestling match between two smiths. Some of the Avari had ventured into the city to join the celebrations despite their known dislike of stone walls, among them Tatie. She shouted encouragement to the fighters and hurled cheeky rebukes to the referee.

"Foul!" Mahtan barked as one fighter tried to kick his opponent below the belt.

"Not!" Tatie shouted. ""Unless you stuff a weasel down his underpants!"

Mahtan glared disapprovingly at Tatie and then the wrestlers. Tatie only stuck out her tongue at Mahtan like an elfling would. One elf had the other pinned to the ground. The match was over. Snowdrop barked her approval and wagged her tail. The wrestlers drew apart and shook hands. The pair ambled off to share a pint or two of ale. Earlindo strolled over to join a group of elves playing at darts. Next they were ushered by Tatie and Helwien into a makeshift tavern selling heady Avarin liquors. More bawdy singing and dancing followed. The Teleri prince would spend a good many hours in the company of the common elves of Tirion before staggering back on Mornel's shoulder to the palace.

"Really, you could have kept him away from those rough elves in the Artisan Quarter and the taverns…" Lady Anaire clicked her tongue with disapproval as Mornel handed Earlindo off to his amused father. Earwen took one look at her little brother and went to brew some tea for the hangover he was sure to have later. The prince was drunkenly singing a naughty ditty about a smith and a tree. Mornel only grinned impishly. The happy couple had long retired to their nuptial chambers. Various guests were also taking their leave of the Noldoran and the banquet. Ingwion was holding a quiet conversation with Arafinwe and Lady Indis. Mornel stifled a yawn.

"Now, off to bed with you…" Anaire shrugged and motioned for Mornel to retire for the night. "You have had a long day too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wedding is over and we are nearing the end of this story arc.


	21. Together at Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the festivities, Amarie has a talk with Finrod. Finrod confides his fears to his new bride and promises never to abandon her ever.

Amarie giggled as Finrod swept her up into his arms. They had left the festivities behind them and bade a goodnight to their trailing troop of well-wishers in the corridor. Elemmire shouted one last jest before being dragged off by a cousin. There was one last step to the marriage rites – mercifully to be held in their privacy of the nuptial chamber. For a moment, Finrod thought of his brothers in Mandos and Galadriel in Beleriand. In the manner of most Noldor weddings, the groom’s kinsmen would be shouting teasing encouragement, sprinkling the couple with rose water as they retreated to their chamber to consummate their union. Elemmire and his friends had stood in for Finrod’s absent brothers, calling down blessings for a fruitful and loving union. 

Finrod kicked the door shut behind them, set Amarie down on her feet, and kissed his bride by the soft glow of the candles. The kisses were coy and almost chaste at first, growing bolder with the shedding of their garments. When they were both wearing only their shifts, Finrod took Amarie by the hand and led her to the waiting bed. Their union was both tender and loving. Finrod was considerate and gentle with his new wife, as was his nature. 

 _I want a child,_ Amarie gasped incoherently with the joy of the consummation of their love. Finrod froze for a heartbeat. 

 _Not yet, my love… Not yet until it is safe…_  

 _What do you mean?_ Amarie frowned in confusion. 

 _Forgive me for alarming you… I feel that there is a time of trial coming. Morgoth still holds the Hither Shores in his thrall with the aid of his minions._ Finrod held Amarie close in the afterglow of their union to reassure her. 

 _We are safe in Valinor, aren’t we?_ Amarie asked. 

Her husband nuzzled her pale neck, kissing the tip of her ear, and eliciting a shiver from her. _Yes, we are safe here but I am not ready yet, for children…_  

 _We will wait._ Amarie smiled and hid her disappointment. _Will you share your fears with your wife, my husband?_ He must have been seeking out guidance from Lord Irmo in his dreams. She could understand his concerns about his sister, even if he had acted against the teachings Amarie had been raised with by seeking out visions of his own accord. Finrod hesitated. He did not wish to alarm Amarie. Neither did he wish to keep secrets from her. Finally he decided.

_I had a vision of war approaching. This time it will not only be the Noldor who will sail across the Sundering Sea._

_How will it end? I will go with you if you sail…_

_I know not. But I promise I will not leave you, for my place now is by your side…_ Finrod did rise from the bed to investigate a faint scraping at the chamber door. With a laugh, he admitted Snowdrop. The wolfhound flopped down at the foot of the bed.

* * *

The newly-weds rode from Tirion a week after the ceremony with King Olwe and Prince Earlindo. The honeymoon was to be in Alqualonde. Snowdrop loped alongside their horses. They expected to remain in the Teleri’s city for a month or two, much to Lady Indis’ dismay. The Dowager Queen had been hoping to host her grandson and his bride in the palace of Tirion for the duration of the honeymoon. Mornel was there to see them off. Ingwion and Arafinwe had requested her presence in Tirion while they discussed Finrod’s and Mornel’s visions. Ingwion had apologized for his father’s continued snubbing of Mornel, despite the ban on her entering Valmar being lifted due to protests by the Valar. The high king was notoriously stubborn when he set his mind to it. He also apologized for the behaviour of some overly pompous members of his entourage. Those offending elves were ordered to man the Vanyar counsel in Tirion, which was conveniently set in the midst of the Artisan Quarter. Apprentices and smiths had little patience with such pomposity and a few weeks in their company would cure any elf of such thoughts, or send them packing to the House of Healing. 

Prince Findarato’s foresight was known to be stronger than most, even in the halcyon days of his youth. Together with his sister, he had spoken to his elders then of hidden realms in deep caves or nestled among faraway crags – cities which the Exiles eventually built in Beleriand. Back then, their elders treated their tales as the fruit of their overactive imaginations. His visions of war were now taken seriously by his father and the Vanyar crown prince. Mornel was bothered by her vision of a white bird, a white ship, and a shining gem. Master Olorin had joined the discussion, slipping into the chamber where the meeting was held unnoticed by all until he asked Ingwion to pass him a goblet of wine. 

“Could it be a silmaril I saw in my vision?” Mornel wondered aloud as she finished describing her vision for Ingwion’s benefit.

“What might or might not come to pass, or what has already come to pass…” Olorin only shrugged as he answered Mornel. 

“This will come to pass,” Mornel replied confidently. “A white ship will come from the east.” She closed her eyes. The image of the white ship was imprinted on her mind’s eye. _Or was it a white bird or a shining star of a gem? Perhaps it was all three, melding and blending into each other. Nothing made sense – yet._

* * *

Mornel took up some light arms training in Tulkas’ hall despite Lady Indis’ misgivings. Many felt it unbecoming for a noble nis to take up a sword. Grandfather Mahtan only laughed and had a fine sword and dagger forged for Mornel. Nerdanel insisted on crafting the shield herself, and presenting it to her daughter when she next visited Alqualonde. Arafinwe was quick to quench any rumours of possible rebellion, insisting it was he who commanded his niece pay homage to the Warrior Vala Tulkas through the practice of arms. Yet the gossip continued and Mornel decided to leave Tulkas’ rather than bring further strife to her uncle’s court.   

After leaving Tulkas’ hall, Mornel continued her training in Formenos under the tutelage of various warriors from the Avari clans who had encountered the foul creatures set loose by Morgoth’s minions on the Hither Shores. Finrod had also spoken of the hazards of Beleriand – poisonous spiders, orcs, and flame-breathing lizards twice the size of a horse. However, none of her tutors had experienced an actual war with Morgoth’s forces, having perished during the Time of the Long Night when the worst of the Dark Lord’s minions were content to hide in their fortress whilst lesser creatures like spiders, orcs, and werewolves prowled the shadows. Her father had fallen to a Balrog – a fallen Maia of fire under Morgoth’s banner. _How could any elf hope to prevail against such a foe?_ Yet she could not help feeling a twinge of pride at the tale of battlefield courage despite her atto’s rumoured madness then. 

In the meanwhile, Finrod and Amarie prospered in their love. Finrod’s strength and former good cheer returned although he still had episodes of melancholy when his thoughts turned to his absent kin. The seasons melted into each other as Finrod and Amarie embarked on their new life together. Their villa in the orange grove was completed, and they had left the palace for their new home. The couple were happy and content with each other, though many felt their union’s continued childlessness was cause for concern. Some malicious gossipers even suggested that Finrod had been rendered sterile by the Valar despite being allowed to return to life due to his part in the Rebellion of the Noldor. Amarie would look on the elflings born to her kinsfolk with fondness at times. In such unguarded moments, Finrod would regret his decision to remain childless but Amarie was willing to wait until Finrod was ready to be a father. 

Mornel visited her cousin at his villa when the orange trees were in fruit. It would be a lovely place to raise any elfling. The villa stood on the foothills of Tuna and offered a fine view of the sea. The air was sweet and balmy. Finrod had set aside an airy room for use as a nursery for any future elflings. It remained empty for now. Someday it would ring with the laughter of Finrod and Amarie’s children. 

She had her dreams of the white ship on occasion, alongside the dreams of bloodshed. One night she thought she saw Finrod and Amarie on the ship, before she realized they were too young to be them. Moreover, the nis had raven-black hair instead of Amarie’s golden tresses. Behind the shining ship, she thought she caught a glimpse of two terrified young children held fast by a pair of wild-eyed neri she knew instinctively were her two eldest brothers. She dared not share that vision with anyone. Instead she left her bed and went to the window of her room. There she raised her eyes to Lady Varda’s stars, bright in the northern skies of Valinor, and offered a silent prayer for the Exiles and those on the Hither Shores. 

For now they could only wait to see what chord Eru Iluvatar’s song would take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is the end of this story arc. Taking some time out for a bit to attend to some real-life matters before plunging into the War of Wrath.


End file.
